I See Fire
by FirstTheColors
Summary: Separated from everyone else, Beth and Daryl look for comfort in each other. Fully guilty pleasure Bethyl one-shot, expanded but still shameless. M for a reason.
1. Chapter 1

**So I've been on a bit of a hiatus, and I apologize for that. School and life called. I have another story going that I fully intend to continue, but I have a soft spot for Bethyl and this demanded to be written. Especially after that episode with the eye-fucking over the kitchen table, which really needed an explanation. Y'all know what I'm talking about. If you tell me you didn't want this to happen at least a little bit... I'll say that you're lying. So read, enjoy! Thank you to ChooseJoy and MollyMayhem84 for being fantastic and hilarious and wonderful. Title taken from Ed Sheeran's "I See Fire", not because it's a particularly sexy song but because I think the essence of it goes pretty hand in hand with the show. **

The strike of the match as he lit the fireplace in the small house they had found was the loudest thing Daryl had heard since they cleared the place out. He looked back at Beth, who had already dropped her bag in the corner of the living room and was sitting down a few feet away, and then back down at his matches. Five left. He shouldn't be using them, should have made camp outside, but figured maybe they deserved to have some solid walls for a night. He would have to teach her how to make a fire without the extra help. Wasn't hard. He chanced a glance at her as he sat down, thinking maybe he could teach her now just to fill the silence, but the look on her face made him change his mind.

The flames at least took quickly. He knew how to build a fire, if nothing else. He counted it as a list in his head as he sat down next to her. He had fed them. He had fire. He had shelter. He had the basics down, but now that he was done he was fucking lost on what to do.

Three days since the prison fell, and he'd guess there'd been about ten words between the two of them since. It wasn't like he missed the chatter, but the silence from the shell of a girl next to him wasn't sitting right with him.

Not that he was doing much better. Wasn't a lot going right for them. Home gone. Family gone. Everything lost. But still, he was used to shit like this, knew how to block it out to focus on what needed to be done now. Beth, he knew, wasn't doing as well. He was used to her smiling, missed that edge of innocence she had managed to keep through it all. The balance was fucked to shit again, and watching this girl getting taken with it was hard, a reminder of what he'd lost, what everyone had lost.

He was fucking pissed as hell about all of it, and he wasn't sure if he could fix any of it.

His eyes flicked over to where she was sitting next to him. She was staring right at the flames, but he could tell she wasn't really there. Her arms wrapped around her knees, hands clenched on wrists so tight he saw nails about to break skin. She was filthier than he'd seen her in a while, a sharpening of cheekbones and angles, a hollowness in her eyes that told him she wasn't a kid anymore. He'd noticed that for a while, now, had seen her grow from airy teenager to something more capable. But that didn't mean he had to accept the hollowness he saw now. Girl was screwed up pretty bad. He could see it all over her, and there wasn't a damn thing he could think to say.

He put his eyes back on the fire, hoping she couldn't sense him looking. Last thing he wanted was to coddle her, and he was sure she wouldn't care for it, either. But where the hell did that leave him? He thought back as a stick cracked in the fire, trying to remember what people had told him after his mom burned herself out.

Daryl cleared his throat. "Your daddy, he, uh…" He swallowed hard, glancing over at her to see how his words were being taken, but it looked like she hadn't heard him at all. Shit. He should've thought this through before he opened his mouth. Why was talking so fucking difficult? His words hung out in the air between them, awkward and incomplete, and he couldn't even think of the right thing to say. "He was a good guy," he finally finished.

But still nothing. This was the first he had dared even mention what had happened, and now he was thinking it would've been best to keep to quiet. He wasn't even sure she had blinked, her eyes glazed over. "My mom," he tried again, his talk with Carl coming to mind, and he was almost excited that he might have something to say.

But her head snapped towards his, shutting him up. "She's dead," she said blankly, her voice dry from lack of use.

He blinked at her. "Yeah," he confirmed lamely, his already low confidence in this kind of comfort fading fast.

She looked back at the fire. "Carl told me. And everyone's dead now anyways," she said, resting her chin back on her knees, and the words didn't sound right in her singsong voice.

He didn't want to disagree with her, knowing there was every chance that she was right, but he couldn't just let her keep on like this. "You dunno that. Could always go back. Track 'em down."

"So we can follow a bus on foot?"

He paused before answering, ignoring her snark. "It ain't all lost yet, girl."

But, instead of looking even slightly comforted, she snorted. "Don't call me that. I'm as much a 'girl' as you are by now."

He raised his eyebrows. A comment like that deserved a comeback, but he was honestly just relieved that she was still talking. Anything was better than the blank numbness that had started to spread to him, too. "Sorry."

She sighed. "S'alright. I'm used to bein' babied by now."

He thought on it for a second, trying to think if he was guilty of that, too. It wasn't her fault. Girl just had a look about her that needed protecting, that same innocence he missed. "Don't make it right, though," he said, to her as well as himself. "You've done good. I mean it," he added when her only response was to turn slightly away. He felt he was onto something with his encouragements, noticed a slight change in her demeanor.

"All I did was take care of Judith. You're the one who kept things goin'." She paused. "You and daddy. And Judith might not even be-" she stopped, her voice cracking. "Might not be-"

And then, to his absolute horror, she burst out into tears, her body shaking as back bending sobs wracked through her. Daryl could count on one hand the number of times he had shed any tears himself, and real panic started to form as he struggled to think of what to do. A big part of him wanted to leave her some space, but he couldn't risk having her alone. Another fear hit him as he remembered her brief suicide scare back when they'd still had the farm.

He looked away, knowing that if the roles were switched he'd want to be ignored. He sneaked another look at her, knowing instinctively that he had to do something, but again not knowing what. He felt that touching her would be crossing some sort of line, but just watching her break without doing a thing didn't feel right, either.

He slowly slid over the ground so he was closer to her and, when there was no sign of a break in her tears, put his arm gently around her shoulders.

He half expected her to push him off, but instead she turned into him, pressing her face wet with tears into his neck, her arms wrapping snugly around his torso. He stiffened completely, not wanting to remove her, but not exactly comfortable, neither.

Slowly, though, second by second, he relaxed, putting his arm more firmly around her, securing her to him. This wasn't his strong suit, he knew, but Beth was as much his family as Rick and Merle.

He let her stay like that for a minute before speaking.

"Hey," he said, softly as he could manage. She looked up at him, her face much closer to his than he had anticipated. He was lost for a second, distracted by her proximity, her big blue eyes so focused on him that he lost track of his words. As their eyes locked, something passed between them. A tingling like electricity shot up from the base of his spine, making him go suddenly rigid. "You, uh," he started, but had to pick a spot on the wall just behind her head in order to continue. "You can do this. Might seem now like ya can't, but I've seen ya be strong. Just gotta…" He shrugged, not sure where he was going, but at least her tears had slowed while he bumbled through his speech. "Just gotta keep livin'. Can't shut down like this. 'Specially not with me," he added, thinking of the half assed job he was doing keeping her sane.

Beth ducked her head back down into the crook of his shoulder. "I know. 'M'sorry," she said, her words muffled by his skin. "I'm glad I'm with you."

He wanted to say something, but he was now distinctly aware of how completely they were touching, and that look she had given him moments ago kept flashing in his mind. He very suddenly wanted- needed- to let her go, get himself out of this before his thoughts could go further.

He was just trying to think of all his escape routes when he felt her move. He wasn't sure what it was at first, positive that he was misunderstanding the suddenly frantic pressing of her lips into his neck. But, as she made her way closer to his ear, there was no mistaking the sound and feel of soft kisses against his skin.

He froze again, completely rigid as her lips met his jaw. His heart was pounding now, his concentration focused in on where she was touching him, his vision and senses clear in a way that he normally only got from hunting and fighting. His arms around her tightened as his muscles grew stiff. He angled his head back, trying to disconnect her, but instead felt her mouth covering even more territory on his neck.

An instant sense of wrongness hit him hard, almost as strongly as the guilt he felt for not pushing her off as soon as she started. She was young, upset, confused, and he sure as hell wasn't going to be the kind of man that let this continue. He withdrew his hands from her completely, wanting to negate the way their bodies were touching without just pushing her off completely. But, as soon as he let her go, he lost his center of balance, and found himself falling backwards to the floor with a startled Beth falling on top of him.

But she quickly adjusted, her leg swinging over him so that she was straddling his hips, and he could see from the excitement on her face that she had misread his falling for being on purpose.

"Beth," he said firmly, wanting to reach out and stop her as she bent forward but reluctant to touch her again. "Ya gotta stop."

She froze, but he could see a flurry of hurt, concern, and embarrassment flit across her face. She sat back up, unfortunately centering her weight between his hips. He looked up to the ceiling, tucking his lower lip between his teeth as his fingers dug into the carpet. "Gotta get off, girl," he said, his voice way more fucking strained than he wanted. "This ain't right."

But instead of moving, she dug forward, her knees coming in to squeeze his ribs. He looked at her angrily - he would pick her up and take her off his damn self if she wasn't gone in the next few seconds - but was taken aback to find her already staring at him, her eyes narrowing and her mouth set, clearly pissed.

"I told you, don't call me that," she snapped. "Why not?"

He was losing patience fast. "The hell you mean, why not? This ain't up for debate, Beth. You ain't thinkin' straight. Now ya need to get off 'fore I do it for ya."

"I ain't a kid, Daryl. I'm grown. Grown enough to see the way you've looked at me."

His mind went blank and then raced, and he could feel his fucking face getting red. "You dunno what the hell you're sayin'," he barked defensively, and sat up.

He had thought that she would fall back, but his plan backfired, bringing him face to face with a pissed off Beth still situated firmly in his lap.

She huffed at him for a second, staring him down, nostrils flaring as her chest heaved with barely checked anger. Then, before he could push her off, she bent forward, catching him in a not at all gentle kiss. He snapped his head back on instinct, not ready for the sudden move.

"Beth," he repeated warningly, but it was all he could muster. A red alert was going off in the back of his mind. Push her off. Stop this. Don't let this fucking happen. But he couldn't get himself to act on any of them.

She leaned forward again slower this time, and every inch of her body that met his was like a wake up call, making him completely alert and aware of the way she fit against him. She was moving both too fast and too slow, and while there was some whispering voice of consciousness saying this needed to stop, it wasn't enough to beat out the pulsing he felt all over his body as her face got closer to his. He could feel her hot breath on his cheek, featherlight fingertips on the skin of his arms, squeezing pressure from her legs wrapped around him. He wasn't sure where to put his hands, afraid to touch her, so he kept them firmly by his sides, hands nearly boring holes into the floor.

She kissed his jaw, just once, barely even there, her mouth skimming across his cheek to the corner of his mouth. There was so much anticipation that he could feel it all over his skin, and he was having trouble remembering exactly who it was that was making him feel this way. Beth. Young. Too fucking young. And he should definitely care more than he did.

She took his hands from where they still sat clenched on the floor and guided them to her sides, her raised shirt getting his hands directly on her skin.

"You can touch me," she whispered, and the speed of her pants matched his own. There was a small catch in her breath as he flexed his fingers experimentally against her waist. "I need you to touch me," she added quietly, pressing her temple against his, and he couldn't help the tightening of his hands on her body.

"Where?" he asked, because he really needed to know.

"Anywhere," she whispered, her breath catching again and picking up twice as fast. "Everywhere. Please."

The desperation in her voice got him hot, and hard. This was past out of control, but as he watched her close her eyes, he wasn't sure he gave a shit. He watched as she got closer, her nose skimming along his cheekbone, but blinked his eyes shut as her lips touched against his. He couldn't move at first, just holding her as her mouth picked up more traction. He was afraid to reciprocate and damn himself more than he already had, the guilt still nagging him.

He didn't want to open his eyes as her mouth worked furiously against his, and instead focused on touch, memorizing and imagining and feeling with his hands as they worked the expanse of her body beneath her shirt: the ridges of her pronounced ribs followed by the smoothness of her navel, skin stretched tight over hip bones, and, as fragile as she seemed, there was no hesitation or weakness in the hands that were gripping tight to his shoulders. He couldn't pull her off even if he wanted to.

And there was no stopping this, not anymore, no way. The more he felt of her the more sure he was that there was no other option. There was only skin, and heat, and softness, and Beth, and need that was everywhere. She was everywhere, her lips on his neck, the skin of her naked back against his hands. She was fucking tiny, but he could feel how strong she was, too, lithe muscles just under the skin.

As if to prove her strength, she pulled at his hair, her fingers winding around the long strands at his neck to pull, stinging his scalp and making him snag her lower lip between his teeth. He felt her smile against his mouth, but he didn't return it, his fingers gaining more confidence as they pulled her shirt up to her shoulders.

She raised her arms without any more urging, and he pushed the simple tank up and off of her, dropping it to the ground behind her. He waited just a second this time before running the pads of his fingers up her spine, feeling her press against him more with every vertebrae he passed over. He could feel her heat through his shirt, and pressed her more firmly against him.

Her hands left his chest, and before he could say anything - though to help her or stop her, he wasn't sure - she was unbuttoning her shorts, pulling the zipper down so that they fell slack on her hips.

"Wait," she breathed, and her hands stilled his own as they made their way quickly down her torso to the newly exposed skin of her pelvis. He immediately stopped, heart beating so fast that it shook his frame. He didn't want to stop, wasn't sure he would even be able to keep this slight pause in movement.

"You change your mind?" he asked, and he was nearly embarrassed by how uneven his voice sounded. He tried to even stop breathing as he waited silently for her to tell him that this was all a terrible mistake, trying to prepare himself to pretend they hadn't crossed the line.

But then her hands went to the part of his chest that his half unbuttoned shirt made visible. She traced a gentle spiral down his sternum with the pads of her fingers, and he closed his eyes, all his concentration focused on her touch.

"No," she finally whispered as she started in on the next buttons, her knuckles hitting his stomach with every button undone.

He opened his eyes to find her closer, her own eyes looking down at where her hands worked. He let her finish, releasing his grip on her sides to allow his shirt to fall down his shoulders and to the floor before he spoke. "No what, Beth?" he asked, still not replacing his hands on her waist.

"No, I haven't changed my mind," she said, a little louder than before.

But she still wasn't looking at him, and he needed to see her eyes when she told him that she wanted this. He put his hand on the side of her neck, his thumb on her jaw tilting her face up while his fingers pulled her hair at the back of her head. She gasped shortly at the sharp tug of direction, her mouth slightly open as her eyes met his.

He had to ignore the way that gasp sounded to him, the way having her like this was making him feel, the notable tightening of his pants that, judging from her shifting and the blush coming under his hand, she had noticed, too. "Say it again," he instructed, his voice steady now, not even wanting to blink.

She swallowed, looking away for a split second before meeting his eyes again, her pupils dilated. He was close enough to see her pulse point thrumming, the slight sheen of sweat on her upper lip, the movement of her throat as she swallowed dryly again. "I want this," she asserted, and even though her voice shook, he didn't question that it was true.

He kept his hold on the side of her neck, but reached for her hip with his right hand, dipping his fingers just barely into where her underwear met her pelvis. "Take 'em off, then," he grunted, and snapped the band of her panties against her hip. He wasn't sure where this was coming from, but he liked the way she was listening, the pliantness he felt under his hands as her hips jutted toward his. It wasn't often he was listened to like this, so completely, and he snapped the band again just to hear the smack and the resulting flutter of her pulse against his hand.

She dipped her head at his prompt, a blush flaming up her neck and touching her cheek, and he smirked at how much the tables had turned. This felt more natural, more right than her talking stern to him. This felt like Beth. Capable, strong, hard, stubborn, innocent, but soft, delicate, and, he was beginning to see, a taste of pure sin that was quickly consuming him.

"I'll have to stand up," she said, the blush reaching higher up her cheeks. Her eyes flashed once to his, but she quickly looked away.

He gave her hair another quick tug to get her eyes on his again and then released her, crossing his arms over his chest, nonchalant this time instead of defensive. "So stand," he said, and there was an unintentional challenge in his voice that he could see from the narrowing in her eyes that she had accepted.

He set his mouth in a tight, slight smile that he knew was more cocky than genuine. But he had to, had to keep this dynamic that they had achieved. It helped him focus on the act instead of the situation.

She narrowed her eyes at him even more, then braced herself on his shoulders, using them to lift herself as she stood.

He crossed his legs at the ankle, too, keeping as relaxed as possible so she wouldn't know the shitstorm that was happening as he tried to keep still. His fingers twitched in their fists, hidden from sight by his crossed arms.

She stepped out of the shorts, one leg at a time, flickering golden light falling on endless legs no longer cut short by any fabric. He swallowed, debating whether or not to tell her to keep going, but decided against it, knowing that if she heard how unsteady his voice was it would be all over for him. Instead, he just looked, forgetting his own unease as he took her in.

She was right about one thing: there was nothing girlish about her, not in the curve of her thighs, the cinch of her waist, the soft arch of her breasts.

She must have noticed his gawking, because there was a satisfied smile on her face as she hooked her thumbs in her panties and slipped those off, too. He gnawed on his tongue, wanting to look away but being able to as she put her arms behind her back and unclasped her bra.

He was on his feet before he could even think about what he was doing, before the bra hit the ground, before he could think about anything, because thought was gone. She was surprised by his sudden advance, her mouth a cute "o" as he wrapped an arm around her back to pick her up. Jesus, she was small, weightless, practically nothing at all as he moved her back those few feet to the wall. He could tell she was going to say something, but he didn't want to hear it, not now, and he bent down and kissed her firmly as one hand went to her waist while the other grazed the top of her thigh.

There was still that slight hesitance in touching her, but as she whimpered at the feel of his fingers and her mouth opened more, it was lost. He dipped from the top of her leg to her inner thigh, pressuring her there ever so slightly to widen her stance. She did so instantly, allowing his hand to fit snugly between her thighs as he cupped her, pressing the heel of his hand into her pubic bone. She made another sound and he left her mouth, leaving him to look at her face to see and hear everything that she had to offer.

He'd always been able to read others like this, Beth even easier than most, and now was no different. He saw her eyes close as he swept his thumb through her curls and into her folds, heard her breath hitch as he searched for and found her clit, saw her mouth snap close and then open again as he slid his middle finger easily inside. It had been so long for him, too fucking long, but he was using everything he could remember, everything he had learned as he pressed further with his hand, searching with first one finger and then two. He made a quick circle around her clit, watching her all the while as her head banged back against the wall. Her fingers tried to find purchase on the wall, then his chest, and finally came to a tight grip on his wrist.

She was so wet, and hot, and her feet shifted on the floor so that her legs were even wider. Her teeth dug into her lip, and she winced on the next pump of his fingers. He knew he'd found it, then, the spot that would get her right there with him. His hips moved without his permission in a steady rhythm, his cock jealous of the warmth his fingers were getting, and he wasn't even sure if he could actually last. He focused on her instead and stroked again, bracing his forearm above her head as he curled his fingers in on her walls, and she let out a real gasp as a sheen of sweat formed on her face. Her fingers dug deep into his arm, and her thighs quivered, her head bouncing once again against the wall before she tossed her head forward so that her chin rested on her chest, and she was fucking beautiful. He could see all of her in that moment, her vulnerability and her strength, and he wanted to see it all come apart.

But not like this. He needed to feel her, as close as he could.

He gave her one, two, three more moves of his hand, another swipe of her clit with his thumb, but as soon as he felt the tightening of her walls, he withdrew his hand completely. He didn't wait for her to register what happened, moving his hand to the side of her face to bring her back up to him so that he could kiss her, his hips jutting against her open thighs. Her hands clawed down his chest, and he thought briefly that she was going to push him away for cutting her off so close to the high, but instead she moved to his jeans, clumsily working the buckle. He let her, watching as she pushed his jeans and boxers down to just where his ass met his legs, just enough to let his cock out.

He was just about to pick her up and move her again when her warm hand wrapped around his length, and this time it was his face screwing up in concentrated pleasure. But he could only let her make two passes of her hand before he pulled her off, worried that he was going to blow it before he even really got to feel her.

"Where do you-?" he asked against her lips, pinning her eager hands back against the wall. "Beth, stop fucking moving," he ordered angrily, his hips driving towards her so that his cock hit her stomach, making him close his eyes and pinch his tongue between his teeth. "Where?" he asked again, trying to fucking hold off on the heat between his hips. "We got a couch-"

But she cut him off with a slap of her palm against the wall behind them. "Here," she said, and kissed the area of his chest she was level with.

He threw his head back, clenching his jaw for just a moment to gather himself before he came back to her mouth full force. His hands found the back of her thighs, and in one move, he lifted her to his hips and slid neatly inside of her, hitching her legs securely around him.

There was a sound from both of them, and her face became a mix of surprise, pleasure, and a trace of pain. He cursed himself for moving so quickly, but even so, every inch of his being was begging him to just fucking move. He kissed the base of her neck, reaching the top of her breasts with his tongue as he tried to shut the urges up. Her hand made it's way into his hair, the other holding tight to his bicep. She squeezed him lightly there, arching her back so that he slid even deeper inside, and he needed now to _move_. But he looked at her face, half cast in shadow, looking for some sign before he let base instincts take over.

She was looking down at first, shadows from her lashes on her cheeks, but then her eyes darted to his, and she gave him a single nod.

That was all he needed.

He propped her up, his fingers boring into her thighs before he replaced his forearm next to her head to hold his weight as he snapped his hips out and then back inside, only giving a few inches this time.

Christ, she felt good. Better. She was nothing short of fucking perfect, her breasts bouncing as he pulled out to thrust back into her with the urgency he had been feeling since she had stripped down in front of him. He looked at her small, pebbled nipples, wishing he had a free hand. He settled instead for squeezing her thigh, his hand pulling at the top of her head so that she was tilted up towards him. He bent forward, his lips meeting hers in a sloppy kiss at the same time he made his way back inside.

"Beth," he whispered, just to taste her name. He felt her clench once around him as he spoke, her eyes briefly meeting his, and he could see fire raging there as he slammed home again.

It was easy to find a rhythm with Beth. Speaking, words, conversation, none of these were his fucking strong suit, he knew. But the physical. The feeling. That was easier. And with Beth, it was even more so. He moved slowly at first, wanting, needing it to be good for her like it was for him, but soon, he was moving into her as fast as he could, as hard as he thought she could take without breaking. He closed his eyes, hearing the slap of his skin against hers as he drove inside, stopping only to re-hitch her thighs around him. He was chasing down their finish as quickly as he could, hoping to God that she was still on that edge he had led her to earlier.

Her brow furrowed in her effort as she tried as best she could to move her hips to meet his.

"Touch me," she gasped, and mewled as he sank deeper than he had been.

He pushed the locks of hair that were sticking to her sweaty face out of the way and held her face, his thumb swiping over her lower lip. "What ya need?" he asked lowly. He couldn't even concentrate, but right now he would do whatever she asked.

"Like before," she answered, just as gone as he was. "Clit. Please,"

He paused in his movements at her words, needing to gather himself. When he was sure that he could move without exploding, he pressed forward so that he was holding her up with his body. This was harder than before - he was beginning to feel his age - but he did it anyways, and when he was sure she wasn't going to fall, his hand left her thigh and squeezed between them. Her breasts pressed against him, her nipples obvious against his chest as she heaved another broken breath. She kept her legs soundly around him on her own, and he could feel her shaking as he searched down to find her swollen clit.

As soon as he touched her, her body jolted and her head came forward so that she rested against his shoulder. He couldn't move as much here, but he didn't care, pressing inside as much as he could. He put pressure on her clit, and her thighs quivered as he forced in that last inch so that he could go no further, her wetness making its way down his length to his balls.

She turned her face away, another pleasurable wince making its way onto her face as he repeated the motion, pulling out just barely only to sink back in. He put his hand on the wall next to her face, but then found her hand that was now bearing down almost painfully into his shoulder. He had meant to just move her, but then her fingers wove their way between is, gripping him tight.

It happened before he knew what was happening, a slide of her palm against his, a touch of her clit timed with a surge of his hips that triggered the tightening of her walls around him. Her hand grabbed wildly at his hair, her nails sinking into the nape of his neck as she left his shoulder to heave a broken, dry sob. He didn't know what to do, all his senses taken by this girl, his sight consumed with the nearly pained expression on her face as he moved into her tightness again, his hearing taken over by the gasps of her breath as she breathed in again and again, never quite seeming to release the breath they were both holding. Over and over again, she slammed down around him in a feeling of intense pleasure like he had never felt, shooting down his spine so that he went rigid, coming to a barreling finish with a groan while he was still seated deep inside of her.

He was shocked at the unexpected finish, but still didn't care. He was satisfied in a way he hadn't been in a long time, the relaxing feeling of his orgasm spreading from where he was connected to her to the rest of his limbs, intoxicating his fucking bloodstream. The only sound was their breathing, neither one of them making any move to separate as their heart beats settled down. His hand, still trapped between them, flicked experimentally at her clit. She clenched around him again, her whole body still humming, and he was sure that if he kept it up he would be able to fuck her again, straight through the fucking wall.

But he took mercy, bringing his hand out and replacing it at the side of her face. As the high settled, he thought on what he had just done. They didn't have condoms, but he had meant to at least pull out.

"M'sorry," he said unsteadily, sweat dripping from his hair to her cheek. He shivered all over in another aftershock, still inside her, just letting himself feel her. He carefully memorized the way the flames made the sheen of sweat on both their chests glisten, the clutching of one hand on his bicep while the other rewove her fingers between his. He put his head down, not quite able to make eye contact. "I didn't mean ta-"

"S'alright," she said hurriedly, and let out a breath of a laugh that hit his shoulder, making him shiver again. "Don't apologize."

He smiled, and though it barely fucking lifted the corners of his mouth, it was something other than the monotony of the last few days, and he clung to it. This was what Beth did. She was good. Pure. And she was one of the only good things he had left now.

But then her legs slackened, her feet touching the ground as her hands loosened their hold on his. He stepped back, closing his eyes at the loss of heat, and when he opened them again she had stepped out from where he'd had her cornered.

He immediately sensed it, the wrongness, the imbalance, the world slowly coming back into place. "Beth?" he tried, but she ignored him, picking her shorts off the floor and sliding them on, her underwear already in place. "Ya don't gotta-"

"I do," she said, and then sniffed, still not looking at him as he followed her lead by pulling up his jeans from around his thighs. "This, uh," she said, and rubbed her arm while her forehead crinkled. "It doesn't change anything, does it?"

He wasn't sure what she meant, pausing with his shirt just on his shoulders. He was slower now as he did up the buttons, staring at the floor and thinking about her question. Their situation was the same. The prison hadn't magically been reclaimed. No fucking switch had been pulled. But something was very definitely different.

But he couldn't find the words, couldn't ever find the right fucking words, and when she turned around and looked at him, all he could do was shrug angrily.

She bowed her head at the gesture, closing her eyes and tucking strands of hair behind her ear. Her lip was trembling now, her forehead wrinkled in concentration, but all he could do was watch. Even his breaths sounded awkward, and he looked away towards the now much weaker flames.

They stood there for a few moments before she moved, laying down heavily on the couch so that a cloud of dust rose into the air. She crossed her arms, tucking her knees up, and still, all he could do was watch. What had he done?

"He's still dead," she whispered, and a single tear fell followed by another, dripping down the bridge of her nose and across to the opposite cheek. "They all are."

He didn't know what to say. If he hadn't felt like a piece of shit before he definitely did now. He felt it all over again: the guilt, the self hatred, the exhausting loneliness, and all the faces of the family he had lost flashed through his mind. Beth had been a temporary fix, a bandaid for a bullet hole that he never should have accepted, and he felt it all crashing around him now.

Next time, he would keep his words to himself.

**Heh heh heh... it wouldn't be one of mine if there wasn't angst. Review if you hate me. Also review if you don't. That'd be cool, too. **


	2. Chapter 2

**I decided to revisit these two. I couldn't help it. To those of you who followed this story with a glimmer of hope: here ya go. :) and thanks, too, for all the love the first chapter got. Y'all are falling into this ship as hard as I am. **

**edit: This story has been edited since its original publication.**

Daryl hadn't been this fucked up in a while.

He felt like he had after finding Merle's hand in Atlanta, when he was alone - actually alone while being surrounded by strangers - when everything he thought he'd known had changed course. There weren't a lot of ups in the end of the world, but even with all the lows, this was shit. He knew it was shit.

He walked forward aimlessly in the same direction he and Beth had been taking since sun up, not bothering to check if she was still behind him. He knew she was, could hear her careless footsteps, her occasional sighs of frustration and grunts when the path got a little rougher.

It had been a week since his slip up with her. First two days they had both been quiet. Then they had found a house, had gotten them both some real food and different clothes. That seemed to have perked her up a little, maybe getting a little further past whatever had shut her down with him. Smiling more. Talking more, to herself and to him, not that he answered.

But yesterday, she had started to try and involve him more. Asking him questions. Talking about what they were going to do. Asking if he would teach her what he knew when he had shot down a squirrel.

But he hadn't answered, hadn't tried to entertain her suggestions, never giving her more than one or two words. Anything more than that was impossible. He couldn't look at her without thinking of that night, of what it had done to him. And he fucking hated it.

Today had been different. She had been touching more. Catching herself on his shoulders if she tripped. Walking closer than necessary. Once she had actually grabbed his hand, and he had yanked it away, giving her a look he knew would make her back off. And she had. She'd been giving him a couple feet of distance ever since, and that had been a few hours ago. She'd finally stopped talking, too, at least giving him the chance to pretend that all he had to focus on was where they were going.

"Can we stop?" she asked, breaking his thoughts.

He looked behind him to see she was a good ten feet back. Her shoulders were low, one hand reaching across her stomach to grab the opposite elbow. She looked tired, and he could admit that he was, too. They'd lost light a while ago, and even if he denied her they weren't going to be able to move for much longer.

So he gave her a nod, turning around to sling his pack off and to the ground. Here was as good a place as any. Weren't going to find a cabin in the woods anytime soon.

They had been through enough nights now that they knew what to do, and within an hour they were both set up with a fire going.

This was the part of the night he dreaded, when there was nothing but him and Beth and silence that she seemed to think needed to be filled. He watched the fire going, but even that wasn't giving him much. They had to keep it weak, ready to put out on a moment's notice.

She cleared her throat, and he tightened his jaw, sucking in his cheeks in annoyance.

"Kinda cold, isn't it?" she asked, looking at him expectantly. "At least for Georgia." She looked around when he didn't answer. "Ya know, we used to catch lightning bugs this time of year. Would keep 'em in a jar." She looked at him again. "You ever do anything like that? With your brother?"

A week ago she had been looking at him dead in the eye and talking about his dead mother, and now she was talking about lightning bugs. He couldn't understand the process from A to B even if he wanted to.

"I know I said I didn't wanna talk about them, but - I changed my mind," she said, resolute now in the face of his silence. "I wanna talk about it."

Fucking Christ. He wished she would just be quiet. He wanted all of it to be quiet - the cicadas screaming, the leaves and branches rustling, his own fucking head. Bad enough that he couldn't even look at her now without wanting to claw his eyes out at the memories she'd pushed on him.

She sighed. "It's alright if you don't. I get it."

No. No, she really fucking didn't, because if she was even kind of feeling anything near the same headspace, she wouldn't be within ten fucking feet of him.

She rolled a little, arching to reach for her reach for her bag, rooting through it and pulling out a grey sweatshirt with "University of Georgia" emblazoned across the front. She slipped it on over her clothes, putting her knees up to her chest so she could fit those in there, too. It made her look even smaller, tiny, thin fingers poking out from the too-large arm holes. She had some remnants of nail polish on from the prison, something sparkling gold, and she started picking at it now, peeling the colors off.

"I know you think it's dumb," she said, looking absently down at her hands, knees making little mountains in the fabric. "Talkin' about lightning bugs. Tryin'." She still wasn't looking at him, but he heard an undercurrent of something powerful in her voice. "And I know I made -" She cut herself off suddenly before continuing again, faster than before, looking up at him from her perch. "I know I messed up that night. I know that. But I'm tryin'. And you can't just treat me like I'm not even here. Like you don't even see me."

He wished he couldn't see her now. Wished he could just disappear under a sweater of his own, let everything be as dark as it seemed. She wasn't the one who'd fucked up that night. Hadn't been her responsibility not to go ahead with the worst possible thing. And it hadn't been her who'd been fucked up since, who couldn't look at her without remembering how those hands had clung to him, the way she'd sounded, the faces she made. It fucking assaulted him at every turn, now more than ever. He hated it, the way he couldn't control it. Hell, he was trying. He was trying so damn hard to forget. Why couldn't she just let him?

"Anyways. I could get firewood," she said, as if she hadn't just chewed him out. When he didn't answer, she kept going, a noticeable level of irritation in her voice even though she tried to cover it with forced cheer. "It'll die soon, right? I know it needs to be dry. I can -"

He turned his head back away in answer. She would get the hint and shut up soon, he hoped.

"Fine," she said more quietly, and rubbed her hands up and down her shins. "What we doin' tomorrow?"

Still nothing. She picked up a small pebble from her side and threw it at him, exasperated, but he didn't even flinch.

"So that's it, then? We just never gonna talk again? You just gonna sit there and stare?" she asked, clearly annoyed.

He snorted, but said nothing. Maybe he would. Maybe he'd never open his goddamn mouth again. Hadn't done him a lick of good anyhow.

"I'm sorry," she said, and sighed yet again when he still kept quiet. "Maybe we should… I dunno."

He felt himself snap, whipping a look in her direction. "Maybe you should find something else to distract ya and just leave me the hell out of it."

He didn't feel any guilt at how stung she look. She could throw doe eyes at him all day long. Still wouldn't mean a damn thing.

"I said I was sorry," she said. "Before and…" She swallowed, blushing. "Before and after."

He turned away again, not wanting to remember all the things that pause contained. "Whatever," he said sullenly, feeling like a teenager. He wished she'd stop apologizing. He wished for a lot of things, though. None of them were looking too likely, either.

Her face hardened at his response, and he thought he might've finally broken past that facade of happiness. "Might as well be sixteen, the way you're actin'," she muttered, not looking at him as she said it.

That set him off. He stood up, looking down on her, taking pleasure from the surprise and fear on her face at his obvious anger. "Let's just get somethin' straight here," he said, pointing between the two of them. "You and me? Didn't happen. Just 'cause we're stuck out here don't mean we gotta talk. Now or fuckin' ever. You just do as I say, and then maybe I can focus on keepin' us alive." He was huffing from the exertion, continuing to tower over her, and he finally felt more in control. On some level he knew he was being a dick. This wasn't her fault, not her fault that he was stuck on that night like a loop, not her fault that he couldn't do any of this right. She was just a goddamn girl, looking down at her feet, her fists clenched, but he kept going anyways. "I ain't here to sort out your damn feelings. So keep 'em to yourself."

Beth snapped her head up to look at him. He expected the hurt doe eyes again, but instead they were narrowed at him. She was pissed, plain as day, but then tears started to fall.

Daryl took an immediate step back. "The hell you cryin' for?" he asked, faltering.

"I'm cryin' cause I'm _mad_," she said, turning her head away and wiping her tears off angrily with the back of her hand, smearing dirt across her face. She sniffed, taking a deep breath, and then, to his surprise, she stood up, too, the uneven ground making her almost level with him. He steadied himself, eyeing her down, expecting some kind of verbal sparring match. He was almost looking forward to it. This much he could handle, better than the guilty silence and disappointment he'd felt on his back since he'd touched her that night.

But, instead of speaking, she eyed him right back, glare for glare, and then turned and walked abruptly away.

He stared at her retreating back, waiting for her to stop, to look back at least. She was bluffing, he was sure, and he was more than ready to call her on it. But nothing. She just kept walking briskly away, like it wasn't the middle of the night, and soon he wouldn't be able to see her at all.

"Beth!" he called out, trying not to be too loud as a panic and mounting anger started to hit low in his stomach. He looked down at the fire, burned down but not enough for him to leave it. He kicked dirt over the flames frantically, looking out at the exit Beth had take, all too aware of the seconds that were ticking by.

When the flames had died down enough so that he felt safe leaving them, he started his trek after her, grabbing only his bow. He was more alert than ever, walking slowly so that he could look at the ground and the surroundings, looking for any sign of her and finding none.

"Where'd you go, Bambi?" he muttered to himself, but the sarcasm didn't take the edge off of his quickly growing worry. He wouldn't allow himself to admit that he was scared. What if he lost her, too? All because he couldn't stand to talk to her, be near her, even look at her. He couldn't do one fucking thing right.

A crack of a twig to his left caught his attention. His head snapped in its direction, his body stiffening as his eyes strained. He couldn't hear any grunts or groaning, no ragged breathing, so at least he was pretty sure there weren't any dead things walking around, but that didn't mean what he heard was Beth. Possibilities were endless, almost none of them good, and he didn't feel comfortable calling out for her again.

What the hell was she thinking? Getting herself lost or killed was a hell of a way to make a point. He couldn't see worth a damn, reliant on his hearing as he moved forward. The quiet was becoming unsettling. Girl was small, but no way was she this light on her feet.

"Why the hell are we still moving?" Daryl heard a voice, definitely male, from not too far away ask.

He froze completely, listening even more closely than he had been before. This just got fucking real, not some fucked up game of hide and seek or whatever the hell else she was getting at.

"You see that herd?" A different voice this time, gruffer. "Putting as much distance between us and them as possible. Or did you want to wait to see if they would catch up?"

"Shut up, both of you," came a third voice, and Daryl's panic grew. He could hear footsteps, again to his left. "Herd isn't the only thing out here."

Beth. He had to find Beth. Now. He'd wanted her quiet. He hadn't wanted her fucking dead. And all of a sudden it hit him like a fucking train: he could be alone. Actually fucking alone, with not even Beth to mitigate some of that fogging darkness. That fear hit him deep, rolling up his spine, piercing every bone down to the marrow.

He was scared to move now, too, not sure where he was stepping, but staying still was not an option. He went towards the voices, wanting to keep them in close proximity in case they started in the direction of where their camp had been, needing to hear if they caught any sign of Beth before he did.

He had no fucking plan for what he would do if that happened.

"I'm just saying," came the first voice again. "We've been walking all damn day. We gonna walk all damn night, too?"

Daryl wanted them to shut up, too, but couldn't risk losing them. Maybe they would fuck it up all on their own, draw attention to themselves. He was at least sure that Beth would hear them. What she would do about it was a different question. She had a knife on her, he knew, but not much else. Maybe she could hide, at least -

A flash of blonde hair, silvery bright, got his attention ahead of him.

Beth.

He couldn't help but smile as relief washed over him, but it was short lived as, just a couple meters away from where he had seen her, he caught a glimpse of a couple of bodies moving through the trees, and heard their voices once again.

"You smell something?" This voice was new, bringing his count to four. "Smoke?"

Daryl took a detour, cutting left through a couple of trees. He wanted to make an arc, predicting she would move in the opposite direction. He moved carefully but quickly, eyeing where he had seen her, terrified he would lose sight of her again.

"Man, I don't smell fuckin' anything. You're imagining shit." Further away now. Their voices were the only sense of place he had right now. He wasn't even sure he could get them back to the camp at all.

But then he heard breathing to his right, and he turned around to find who he was sure was Beth, her back to him. He didn't even hesitate, lunging behind her, wrapping one arm tight around her torso to capture her arms at the same time his hand came up to cover her mouth. She fought against him, squirming so hard her legs lifted off the ground as she threw her torso back against him, but he kept his arms firmly around her, backing up until he hit a tree. He slid them around so that her back was to the bark and they were face to face, but even then it took a second for her to realize it was him. As soon as she did, she relaxed, her eyes closing as her chest heaved with the exertion of her fight.

"I smell smoke, I know it," the fourth one said, and Daryl was relieved to hear that them even further away. He kept his grip on her, worried that she would jinx them if he let her make even the smallest of sounds.

"Just keep going. We'll eat before the night's over." The voice was much further away now, and when someone responded he couldn't make out what was said.

He stayed tense, not trusting that they were truly alone, that they could actually make it out of this unscathed. He pressed harder against Beth's mouth with his hand when he heard her trying to speak, pressing closer against her as he heard a branch fall somewhere near them. His eyes darted, trying desperately to spot even the slightest movement. He couldn't hear voices anymore, but there were sounds of the woods all around them, making his ears unreliable.

He lost track of the seconds as they passed by, his heart slowly returning to normal. He was pretty sure now that they were alone. And he was relieved. So fucking relieved, the feeling pounding through him. She was literally in his arms. He wasn't alone. They weren't dead. He hadn't fucked it all up again.

Beth breathed hard out of her nose, the air hitting his hand and calling his attention back to her. He faced her, almost surprised to find her face just inches away from his. He had forgotten how close they were, caught up in the danger of the moment, but now there was nothing else to distract him as her eyes met his. The line of his body was fully against her, his leg between hers, and he felt his heart picking up its pace again. The memories slammed into him one by one in flashes he couldn't keep up with: the sound of her clothes hitting the floor, the way her back had arched into a pretty curve towards his chest, how her lips had gotten swollen and red from his mouth.

He dropped his hand and squirmed away from her, nearly falling. She was breathing just as quickly as he was, her eyes locked on his, her tongue coming out to lick her lips, and he found himself staring in a way that he was sure she'd be able to read as nothing short of desperate.

But then she blinked, and he took the slight distraction to turn himself away from her, trying to find some shelter in the shadows so she wouldn't see how affected he was. It wasn't hard to channel that into anger, and when he faced her again he was ready to burst.

"You happy now?" he asked her quietly, seething just beneath the surface.

She said nothing, just looking at him. He wished she wouldn't. Wished that she'd just leave him be, because she wanted to pretend nothing had happened and that was just fine but she couldn't expect it to work if she wouldn't leave him be. The longer she stared the more he felt his anger beginning to fade and something else beginning to replace it. Defeat. He couldn't be mad at her anymore. Couldn't even pretend. Frustrated and irritated, yeah. But just looking at her made it hard for him to hold onto any of it.

He breathed out, feeling the tension he'd been holding all week releasing a little. "C'mon," he said, giving up the fight before he had even started. "Let's go."

He turned around and took a couple steps before he realized he couldn't hear her following. He looked back to see that she hadn't even moved a muscle, back still against the tree. "Beth?" he asked her, gesturing her forward. "Time to go. We need to move." He hadn't forgotten what the men had said about a herd. He was eager to get going, get some shelter, maybe some higher ground.

But Beth still didn't budge, as if she hadn't heard him at all. "Beth," he repeated, a little more firmly now.

She turned to look at him for a second, and then shook her head. "Sorry," she mumbled, stepping away to walk past him. He stared after her for a second, watching her uneven steps before shaking his own head and following after her. She seemed as if she was about to fall, so he kept close to her, replacing the bow on his back so that he could catch her if she started to sway.

He wasn't ready when she stopped, nearly bumping into her back. "I don't know where we're goin'," she said, tired and exasperated. "Why don't you lead?"

He eyed her for a second before nodding, walking past her and redirecting their aim slightly towards his best guess for where camp was. It was literally a shot in the dark, but leaving their shit behind would feel like such a step backwards in their already unbalanced position that he didn't want to risk it.

So they walked in silence, Daryl still listening for any unwanted voices. He almost wished she would talk now, just to help ease his mind, but he wouldn't ask that of her. He wasn't stupid. He knew he still needed to reestablish their distance. He had enough to think about anyways. The other group. The rest of their own group. Maybe a herd coming their way. He didn't feel at all comfortable anymore just sleeping out in the open. Not seeing any people besides the dead ones had made him complacent, but no more. He needed his hands on a map. Maybe find a road. A rest stop. Of course, that might only invite more trouble, being out in plain sight like that. Not that the woods were proving any better. The trees might slow down a herd, if they got thick enough, but he couldn't guarantee it, and as much as he could handle deep woods he wasn't sure Beth could do the same. Maybe -

Beth's scream came out of nowhere. He whipped around as her voice pierced the silence, his bow off his back and ready in his hands before he even had time to think. It took him a second to find her, on the ground, scooting frantically away from him. He couldn't make sense of what had happened, looking around for whatever threat had set her off. He spun, thinking maybe she had seen something ahead of him that he hadn't, but couldn't find a damn thing. He looked back at Beth, who was breathing so loudly and raggedly that he had no problems locating her. She was tucked against tree roots, holding her ankle, her head darting around, looking towards the ground.

"What the fuck happened?" he hissed, muscles still tensed. He still couldn't see what had spooked her, and the not knowing was scaring him.

"Somethin'- somethin' grabbed my leg. Walker. I felt it. I felt it grab me. I'm sure of it," she said, and she was speaking so low that he had to bend down closer to her to hear. He stood back up when she was done talking, shifting his bow to one hand so he could take out his flashlight. He was confused as he shone it back and forth around them, knowing that if there was one on the ground that close he would've at least heard it by now, but that didn't stop him from being thorough as the beam of light made wide arches along the floor. He found nothing except an upright roots, which, he guessed, might feel like bony fingers.

He kept the light there, sitting down next to her.

"There," he said, pointing out the root to her. "You tripped. Nothin' got ya. You're fine."

She was still gasping for breath, sounding near sobs. "I'm sorry, I'm not tryin' to make things worse, I'm just so - so -" she said, but couldn't even finish, close to hysteric.

He turned the light to her leg, reaching to take her hand off of her ankle. She was scratched, sure enough, but it was shallow and singular, nothing like the walker scratches they had seen in the past. "You're fine," he repeated, and when she didn't calm down he gave in, putting his arm around her.

She folded into him, fitting into the curve of his side, shaking hard as she fisted his jacket. "I don't know what I'm doin'," she whispered. "I'm tryin', I really am, I know you didn't want to end up out here -"

His arm tightened around her, his body still on edge. "Quiet," he said, and thankfully, for once, she listened, sagging against him even more. It wasn't even that he didn't have some words to say to her. Because she wasn't exactly wrong - no, she wouldn't have been his first pick for the second end of everything - but she wasn't anything close to right. He could tell her that he'd honestly probably rather be dead than be out here alone. That she was better company than Merle, even on his best days. That he knew she was trying, but shit, he was too. But he didn't say any of those things, pulling her in closer just to feel her warmth.

He was fucked. They both were.

**To be continued. Obviously. You think I'd finish this without some NC-17?**


	3. Chapter 3

**Phew. Okay. Here we are. Thanks for your patience, as I know it's hard to have any when it comes to this. Hot damn. Let's not talk about how many breaks I had to take while writing this, k? k. **

**edit: this chapter has been revised! if you read it when it first came out you'll see some differences now. **

Hours later, Daryl had found them a tent. It had taken forever to get them both moving again, even longer and only with luck to find their original camp, but a little more wandering had brought them this little bit of safety.

An older tent. Good quality, so that it was still standing, nice and secure. No bodies inside, either. It had obviously been through some weather, and the top was ripping apart at the seams so that there was a big hole, but it didn't look like rain out and it was the best they could do. Not that it would do shit to protect them from anything, but at least it gave the illusion, and offered to hide them from sight.

Beth hadn't said two words as they had settled in, putting down her bag at the top of a sleeping bag already there, laying on top without a word and turning her back to him. For all the space and silence he'd given her in the past week, he'd made up for it ten fold in the last hour. Some of his anger from earlier in the week was gone, but everything from the night before was still new, and he couldn't keep from looking at her. Hovering, almost, those pervasive thoughts of _what if_s fucking him up bad. What if he hadn't found her? What if they'd found her first? Or, even now: what if she fell again? What if they weren't as alone as it seemed? He didn't even know if she could tell how fucked up she'd made him in the span of a night. He felt like he was intruding just being next to her. He had no damn clue what she was thinking, or doing.

Fuck. He didn't know what he was thinking, or doing.

He turned onto his back, staring through the hole at the top, a space in the trees letting some stars shine through. It could be worse. He let himself tilt his head towards where Beth was laying next to him, allowing himself to look at her for what honest to God might've been the hundredth time that night. Could be better, too. He hadn't stopped thinking about how her scream had sounded, the straight up goddamn fear that had consumed him. This whole night was fucked to hell. Avoiding her all week hadn't done shit. He still desperately wanted her. Twice today he had almost lost her, and he couldn't ignore how that made him feel, not when just looking at her made him feel it all over again.

So, no. He didn't just want her here. He needed her. Couldn't even pretend anymore, not even to himself and the blustering fucking idiot he'd been this past week. He traced over the darkened line of her with his eyes, the gentle hill of her shoulders, the dip of her waist, the slope of her thighs. Soft, even with the bony edges of her elbows and knees. He felt himself relaxing more even as other parts of him came alive, his blood flowing faster, his heart beating stronger. He remembered how she'd told him off, how new that was. How unexpected. It shouldn't've been, not after that night by the fire.

None of this should make him happy. He shouldn't take any kind of pleasure in this, however slight. He was taking advantage, a grown ass man incapable of keeping his hands off, and even for all he had put her through, he couldn't keep her safe.

Almost as if to punish himself, he remembered her scream all over again, remembered looking for her through the trees, imagining what those people would have done if they had found her before he did. His heart started to race just thinking about it all, and his fingers twitched into fists at his sides.

"I meant what I said that night," she said, almost making him jolt from surprise. He'd thought she was asleep. At least dozing. She stayed on her side, voice so quiet he had to keep his breaths shallow to be sure to hear. "I'm happy I'm with you. Even if you're a jerk sometimes."

He allowed himself a deeper breath, staring up now, worried she'd be able to feel it if he looked at her again. _That night_. "Yeah. I'm a dick."

"Just didn't want you to think that changed." She straightened out one leg, the rubber on her shoes scraping against the fabric of the sleeping bag. "Wouldn't kill you to be nice, though. Or just decent."

"I'm plenty nice," he said, his voice barely more than gruff. He could say something now, he knew. The space was there for it. She was listening. Wouldn't even have to deal with her looking at him.

"You can be," she said, before he had a chance to put the words together.

"Been nice to you," he said, almost quieter than she'd been. Flashes again, this time her teeth on his neck, her legs wrapped around him, her eyes locked on his. "Just different now."

He thought he could hear her breathing. Maybe even her heart beating underneath it all, just as fast as his. "I know it is."

He didn't think either of them were close to sleeping now. He definitely wasn't, his skin alive with the static electricity she seemed to be casting off onto him. He didn't want to just look at her now; he wanted to touch her, to feel something tangible against his fingers. "I ain't - that night at the house, I ain't -"

"I kissed you," she interrupted. She was definitely louder now, but still kept her back to him. The rest of her words came in a torrent, like she'd been wanting to say it for a while and was only just getting the chance. "I told you, I ain't a kid. I've been goin' through this as long as you have, I know how this feels. And I knew what I was doin'." By the end, her voice was wavering.

He reached out without even thinking, his hand inching across the ground towards her back before he caught himself, just as he was about to touch her.

This was so goddamn hard.

It shouldn't be. Wasn't like he hadn't touched her before. Shouldn't be this damn difficult just to touch her now, especially when he could see how she was just as tense and awake as he was. And even more especially when he finally thought he understood, at least a little. He hadn't been lying to her that night when he'd told her she was capable. But there was capable of doing something, and then there was willing. She'd been capable of helping out, capable of taking care of Judith, capable of keeping those kids through the night. But she'd also been willing.

And she'd been willing _that night_.

He inched out again, this time not stopping until his fingers reached the skin just below the hem of her shirt. He waited there, waited for her to turn off or freeze or say something, but she didn't do any of those things; instead, she rolled onto her back so she was almost against him, her hand coming up to rest gently on his arm. He couldn't see her face, just the silvery glow of her hair in the moonlight, but he could picture how she was looking at him.

He almost had to stop all over again, because this was exactly what he'd been fighting all week. This was exactly what had been a mistake and what was never supposed to happen again. But his hand was moving almost of its own accord, stroking back and forth as softly as he could muster along the line of her jeans, each pass bringing him further across her hip. He touched up to her waist, dragging her shirt along with his fingers. It was so quiet, everything outside of that tent fading to oblivion. He could hear her breathing, now, the pace quick and shallow, and he could feel her skin tightening and rippling with goosebumps as he skated up her ribs, but most everything else was gone.

He held his own breath as he pulled his hand over her stomach, tracing a line with just the tips of his fingers down to and past her belly button. She was so soft. He didn't even know that people could be this soft anymore, all sharpness, all muscle. But here she was, laying in front of him, and Beth was soft. She was squirming a little, now, her hand moving up his arm to his shoulder and coming to a rest at the side of his neck. She grabbed hold, pulling him down at the same time she arched her torso into his hand. He allowed himself to fall into her, grabbing at her waist as she raised her head off the ground, her other arm finding a place around his shoulder.

There was a little pause in motion while he considered what was happening right now, his fingers flexing over her ribs while her face settled into his neck, her arm around him tensing to hold herself close. Before, when she'd basically jumped him, it hadn't been like this. Hadn't been time to pause or think.

But now he could do both of those things. He could do a lot of things. His hand moved to her spine, skimming up each vertebrae with his knuckles, imagining the freckles he knew were sprinkled over her shoulders while she tensed and shivered and her hand clutched tighter at his neck. He was almost lightheaded from how few actual breaths he'd been taking, and now he finally took a deep one, his whole frame rattling as his lungs seem to sink into his chest.

She made a little noise, a barely there sigh that just crested the edge of her panting as she pushed her leg up so that it hitched around his waist, her breaths more shallow as he turned his face into hers so that they were cheek to cheek. He left her back, moving to the arm she had wrapped around him, grazing his fingertips around the crease of her elbow and over her bicep until he was back at her shoulder. Feeling those goosebumps rising to meet him, the way her hand spread so that her fingers fell into the cut of his jaw, and when she turned her head to kiss him it was almost weak. Messy. Lips barely pressing, basically pouring into him, more tongue than anything else. He grabbed the hem of her shirt, pulling it more up than off, and she released her hold on him just to help him make it fly off her shoulders.

Finally. When she pressed back against him, she was even warmer, her bare shoulder and back smooth to his hand. No damn bra this time, and he almost wondered if that had been a conscious decision or if she was just as lost to this as he was. Because it was a slow burn this time, yes, but still out of his control. He tried to keep a hold of himself, but the scent of her, being this close, hearing her voice breaking through; none of it was doing him any favors. The silence was thick, broken only by his own heartbeat and their heavy breathing.

But when the trail of his hand changed course, skating over her side, his thumb just barely curving towards her breast, those soft kisses grew suddenly hard. Their teeth clicked as she bit down on his lip, her hips surging forward as she swung her weight into him. He didn't have the position or the will to stop her as she pushed him flat on his back, his head landing hard on the ground. He winced at the impact, but then she was repositioning herself on top of him, her weight falling firmly on his hips. He nearly grunted as she sat down, the breath knocked solidly out of him, and he closed his eyes as he resisted the urge to writhe underneath her. She seemed to sense his strain, nearly bouncing on top of him to bring her weight down on him again. He let out a sharp breath forcefully from his nose, then opened his eyes to glare at her the darkened shape of her outline above him, blocking the light.

He heard rather than saw her smile. Could practically feel it in the air.

She stayed silent, reaching down to pick up one of his hands that had fallen across his chest. She brought it to her knee, the moon only just giving him the faintest of outlines of her shoulders. He wished he could see her, maybe see her eyes roll back and her lashes flutter as he flattened his hand against her so that his fingers curled around her thigh. He thought maybe that was a reaction he could pull from her, if she let him. She pulled him up her leg slowly, all the way past her hip to her midriff.

Touching her back while she clung to him had somehow felt more innocent than this - the slow, purposeful guiding of his hand up her waist and across her stomach - and he found himself starting to panic the further up her body she brought him.

"Beth." Just her name, his voice a little too loud and made of gravel and the cigarettes he'd smoked down earlier, but it seemed enough to catch her attention. She dropped her hand to his wrist, fingers feeling small and feathery delicate.

He heard her take a breath, holding it in for a few seconds before breathing back out, her weight falling onto him a little more. "I know, remember?" She rubbed down his forearm a little before coming back up to his hand, squeezing it, and then, much slower than before, she pushed his hand up to her sternum so that he could feel her heart beneath him. "Just - this ain't the same. As before, I mean. I'm - _oh_ \- I'm alright. Well. Not alright. But I'm - this is good." He felt his legs spreading a little, one bending so that he could get his heels into the earth and push up. He was hard now, only getting harder, and there was no way she couldn't feel it. "I want to."

He tried to keep looking towards her face, fairly certain that he wasn't nearly as covered by darkness as she was, but couldn't help glancing down to where his hand was, reduced to fucking teenaged hormones again. And then she leaned back, letting go of his hand so that she could brace herself back on his thighs as she let the light hit her, and then she was glowing. Glowing silver, glowing blue, her body like a piece of the sky, smooth and unbroken except for his hand. He couldn't pick one spot to look, flitting from her slender neck to the hollows of her collarbone to her smooth shoulders and finally to her chest, her tits and his hand between them. He knew he was staring, that every second that passed pushed him into the territory of awkward, and he could sense her getting uncomfortable, her shoulders hunching a little as her hands left his legs and she sat up straighter.

"Quit starin' like that." This time he could actually see the smile, small but there, the light glinting off her teeth.

He didn't respond, and the longer he stared, the more the discomfort faded. She looked at him, the shadows of her collarbone and navel becoming more pronounced as she leaned over. He swallowed hard as her hands found their way just underneath his shirt, concentrating on the feel of her skin as he passed his hand over so that he was palming her breast, nipple flattened hard and persistent against him, her whole back rolling as she uncurled herself to meet him. He was only there for a second before he started back at the beginning, both his hands on either of her knees. He watched her, carefully this time, as she shook almost imperceptibly, her arms flexing and her fingers making dents on his stomach as they slipped up towards his chest, unbuttoning his shirt along the way. He pressed his hands up her thighs to her hips, pausing briefly before retracing his route, this time turning his palm inwards so that his fingers slid along the seam of her jeans at her inner thighs.

He brought up his hand to the back of her neck and wove his fingers into her hair, newfound confidence convincing him to twist it around his hand so that he could pull her head back sharply. She gasped as her back straightened with the guidance of his hand, her tits pushed out as she arched and her body froze. He took the opportunity to look at her, the softness of her, the curve of her waist, a blush making its way across her chest and up to her cheeks as she looked skyward, staining almost purple in the moonlight. Her fingers curled inward on his chest so that her nails scratched over his nipples, and he shivered, his arms stiffening as he pulled her hair tighter so that her back kept its strict arch. He brought his hand from her knee, up her thigh and over her hip to slide up the line of her waist to her chest, using his thumb to graze over the underswell, back and forth, watching her nipple pebble as his thumb came closer. He watched closely, mouth open and tongue between his teeth, listening to the sharpness of her breath as she gave a small smile to the stars.

He released her hair, slipping his hand down to her other breast to mirror the same actions with his thumb there. Her body stayed taut, allowing him to look at the expanse of her skin, even smoother looking as she stretched her shoulders up to her ears. But still, he felt the heat building between his hips, missing out on the action. He stilled his hands, dropping one to her hip to get his finger through the belt loop of her jeans, using the hold to pull her back down into place. She followed his direction slowly like he'd followed her hands earlier, leaving his chest to slide down his forearms and grasp either of his wrists. She took the one still at her chest, pulling it directly back onto her breast.

Even more slowly, her body began to move on top of him, and now he couldn't help but twitch while she worked, blood pulsing and his skin on fire. Her knees opened wider so that she could press down harder on the line his cock was forming in his jeans, making a slow, soft grind up his hard length before raising her hips and moving back slightly to make the circuit again. Her hand encouraged his on her breast, and he squeezed her there as well as at her waist, desperate to keep her moving. All his senses were firing, and she was doing nothing but stoking the flames. He dug his heels more firmly into the ground so that he could push his hips up to meet her, harder than how she had been moving. She bent over slightly with a yelp when he met her forcefully in the middle, closing her eyes as her hair fell forwards over her shoulder. She whined, her hand moving to get a tighter grip midway down his forearm as the other dropped to the ground to support her weight.

But she only stopped for a moment before she bent down further, forcing his hand to leave her chest to grab ahold of the opposite hip. She didn't stop until her chest was flush against his, her forearms bracing herself on the ground near his shoulders, her hair tickling his chest.

And then she started to grind on him again, and there was nothing soft about the movements her hips were making this time. Their bodies became even more heated where they rubbed against each other, and all he felt he could do was hold onto her. She propped herself up slightly, and now when he looked between them he could see her tits moving, sometimes grazing his chest as she worked herself on top of him. It was too much, and he put his hands on her shoulder blades to rake his nails down to the small of her back. She threw her head back, mouth opening wider while her eyes jammed shut, and he quickly leaned forward to bite into her neck and drag his teeth, looking for anything to release the fucking tension he was feeling all over his body. His hips jutted up into hers rhythmically, and he continued moving his hands down to her ass to push her back down.

He wanted all of her so damn bad. None of it was enough. He was all too aware of how good she was, and his cock definitely remembered, too, demanding more than he could get his hands on. He was about to give in, circling his hands around front to her belt buckle, when she spoke.

"Do that again," she pleaded, and he watched her throat as she swallowed.

His hands froze, and he received an unwelcome reminder of exactly how fucking out of his depth he was here. Do what again? It didn't help that she wasn't even looking at him, her eyes trained studiously on his chin.

"Gotta be more specific than that," he answered, his voice dry, and when she still didn't look at her he put his hand on the side of her neck to cock her head towards his.

"Just." He could feel her swallow under his palm. "Bite me."

His cock jumped, his heart raced, and his whole body burned right down to the fucking marrow. He left her neck to wrap his arms back around her, saying nothing, mind racing with her request. She wanted him to bite her? He could fucking do that. He could bite her anywhere she wanted, right here at her shoulder or the shell of her ear, the side of her breast or where her thigh met her hip. Fucking anywhere she asked. He took a second to look at her, innocent doe eyes - not so innocent, he thought briefly- and soft lips, her warm breath meeting his open mouth as she looked at him nervously. He tightened his arms so that she was caged against him, making it easy to turn them over so that he lay on top of her. Her breath caught in her throat at the suddenness, her legs falling wayside from around him.

Even better. He looked down at her body beneath him, and quickly decided he liked how she looked when she was on her back for him.

He could feel his confidence gaining with this position, and he slipped his hand down to hitch her leg back around his hip. He retraced his route, fingertips inching over her jeans so he could palm her ass while he scooted down to get his face level with her chest, lowering his lips to her skin, tasting the layer of grime and sweat he found there.

It felt like it had been years since he had last tasted her. Like he was in the middle of the fucking desert and she was standing there offering him sweet tea, and he wanted nothing more than to drink her in. He made his way left, letting his tongue mark the trail of his mouth to her chest. He hadn't forgotten what she had said, and he opened his jaw wide to take as much of her breast as he could, closing his mouth shut and scraping his teeth along the thin skin there until finally he closed in around her nipple. He pinched it tight between his teeth, and felt her hands make their way sharply into his hair and scalp as he pulled slowly up to stretch her slightly. When he glanced up at her face, he found her sucking her lower lip into her mouth, her eyes closed and head turned to the side with her hair a pretty halo all around.

She pulled his hair sharply when he had been gone for too long, her lip slipping slowly free while her eyes screwed up tight. He refocused on her chest, dragging the stubble of his chin back to the salty space between her breasts while he let his hands try once again to the buckle of her jeans. He looked down to try and help his clumsy fingers, but they were encompassed in shadow, and he settled instead just for yanking them down her hips. She didn't help his fumbling, reaching instead to push the flannel down his shoulders. When she was done, she lifted her own hips off the ground, pushing her pants and panties off until they hung onto one ankle while he shook off his own shirt.

So then she was naked. Which he'd been aiming for, but now that she was here and he was between her bare legs, he felt more than a little stunted. The situation was familiar, but still raw in its newness. If she felt like he did, it didn't show, her eyes lidded as she reached up to where he still knelt in front of her. Her palms on his chest, up to his shoulders where she traced down his arms, her fingers soothing along his tensed muscles. He returned with exploration of his own, feeling down her stomach and navel, brushing past the tight blonde curls to rub along the crease of where her leg met her hip. She wiggled, her leg bending gracefully to her side so that her lips spread open. He could actually fucking see it, see her opening for him, and he bent down over her as he let his thumb dip lower, barely touching through her hair and a flash of intense heat.

She brought her arm up to wind behind his shoulders. "Your hand is cold," she whispered, her legs shifting.

"Sorry," he said, immediately withdrawing, but she shook her head and snatched his hand before he could go very far.

"S'alright," she said, looking down between their bodies as she led him back. She dropped it then, leaving him to move on his own as she pushed her own fingers into the waistband of his jeans, flexing her fingers against his pelvis.

One more breath that he held in his lungs like smoke before he started again, this time using his knuckles to slide through her slit, top to bottom, feeling her breath hitching on each one. If his hand was cold, it wouldn't be for long; she was so hot, setting his whole body ablaze as he pushed his thumb through her folds until he found the hardened nub of her clit. He watched her face as he pressed gently in, dragging downwards to dip into the moisture at her opening and circling it back up. She closed her eyes, her hand clawing down his arm as her mouth opened. He kept moving slow, back and forth, little circles that never broached inside of her or quite hit where she wanted him to, because she'd spent what seemed like forever grinding on him and he thought he could afford to tease her now. Scissoring her lightly between two fingers, reveling in the way it made her gasp and her body shift. He pressed harder now, pushing out the leg that wasn't already bent so that she was spread even more. He could feel the way she was responding to him in his fucking veins, could sense it in the soft thrusts of her hips and the nails that she was pressing into his arm. He stopped teasing, refocusing on her clit, touching right over it in little circles that he pushed faster when her head threw back and her legs spread wider, thighs shaking and feet pushing her hips into the air.

Her hand came to a rest on his elbow, where she squeezed tight, turning her cheek to him as she whimpered. She brought her feet up high, pushing his jeans down with her toes, and he obliged, taking his hand off of her only long enough to undo the buckle with one hand. She took over from there, opening her eyes and pushing his pants down, not waiting even a moment to wrap her hand around cock as it pushed free of his boxers.

They stayed like that for a moment, his heart beat reflected in the shaking of his hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. He hadn't been prepared for the full on touch, and she seemed to sense it, taking her hand off of him only to replace it low on his stomach. She used her nails to scratch lightly down the trail of hair there, nearly reaching his dick before traveling back up, tracing around his abdomen before making the path again. It was soothing but it was also fucking terrible; but slowly, he felt more comfortable, enough to run his hands up her thighs, his fingers dragging a shining trail of wetness.

Before he could make it back to her cunt to finish what he had started, she grabbed onto his cock at the shaft, so tight his hips thrusted into her fist. But that was nothing but a mistake, pushing past her hand so that he nudged against her cunt, setting him on fire in an instant.

"Beth," he said, except for it sounded less like a word and more like a sob, broken like he was begging. Hell, he was fucking begging, desperate for her to move or let him go or just _something_. Anything at all to give him any kind of relief. He groaned when the next pass of her hand guided him back against her, and it was all her fault that he felt like this, and he couldn't believe that he'd ever thought she was innocent. He looked at her with an accusing expression, but she was just smiling, having nothing but fun. He narrowed his eyes, but didn't stop her, letting her play her game at her own pace.

She brought him to where she sat open and waiting for him but then just stopped, and he could feel every inch of his fucking being protesting the cease in motion. She was fucking laughing, a bell-like tinkling of a sound. Not mean, no. Just happy. She didn't move until he looked at her again. "Say please."

He actually blushed as his mind started to race, his pride instantly wounded at the same time he felt it inflating. He dropped his head to her shoulder and groaned with frustration, making her giggle again. "You've been mean to me all day, go on. It ain't that-"

He moved forward to kiss her before she could say another word. He brought up a hand to her face to grasp her jaw tightly, pressing in on her cheeks to open her mouth. It took her a second to catch up, but then she threw her arm around the back of his shoulders to pull him in. She kissed him hard, all tongue and gasps for air that he felt deep in his lungs, and there was a desperation in the way her lips moved against him that made him swell in her hand. She kept a grip on his cock, making a pass to swipe her thumb over the tip, forcing his whole body to stuttering standstill. He felt her smile against his lips, smugness in the way she dug into his shoulder.

And he couldn't fucking help it when he started smiling, too. Because he'd been fucked up all week over this, and because now she was here and she was touching him and she was smiling about it. He knew she didn't mean it, that he could pull that hand free and push inside of her and he knew that it would be good for her. Knew it from first hand experience, and from how the pads of his fingers were still damp with her. But he also knew he could play back, that he could make her pay for that cockiness and she might even like that more.

He moved down her cheek, nipping her earlobe with a hard little tug before reaching her neck. Here, he sank his teeth in, biting her like before. This time, when he felt her body weaken, he took advantage, reaching down to take her now limp hand off of him. Before she could react, he brought her hand up above her head, bringing her other one to join it so that he had them both down by the wrist. She didn't fight him, still breathing hard with a smile on her face as she glanced up towards where he had her caught.

He used his free hand to run up the back of her thigh, pushing her legs up one at a time so that her knees were back by her chest. She held them there, her body shimmying like she was getting comfortable, and then just looked at him. Looked at him when he came down over her, his mouth opening when she felt him sliding between her legs, blinking slowly when he bumped up into her clit and then crying out in a wince. He moved his hips against her more purposefully, and this time she moaned, a sound that threatened to pull the stitches that were barely keeping him together. Instead, he bent back down to kiss her again, wanting to taste that same desperation he had felt from her earlier.

"Daryl," she whispered against his lips, drawing out the word when he nudged against her again, the breath of his name fanning against his mouth and cheeks. She licked her lips, her tongue darting out to touch his own. "I'm ready, I want to. I swear."

He hesitated, reaching down between them to cup her, slipping his middle finger in until was snugly inside of her. He saw her arms flex, muscles tensing as she tried to pull her hands free from his grasp with halfhearted strength, but he didn't allow it. Not this time. He pulled out only to circle around her clit, flicking it with the blunt of his nail before sinking back in knuckle deep, and maybe she wasn't innocent but he could be wicked, too.

So he smiled. "Say please," he said, his voice dry.

He had expected a fight, but she didn't even blink. "Please," she said, and the frenzy that was obvious in her voice drove the smile off his face. He abandoned his assault, instead grabbing hold of himself to line up with her, allowing those last few moments of anticipation to come over them both.

He forced his eyes open to look as he finally made that first thrust. She turned her head to the side, her brow wrinkling as she let out a breath through gritted teeth. That didn't distract him from the way she felt as he gave her more, the heat burning him from the inside out, the fluttering of muscles as she squeezed around him to welcome him in. He pulled out after only giving her a couple inches, trying to pace himself as she said something just under her breath. When he moved into her again, deeper this time, he felt her legs tighten their hold on his sides, her toes curling as her hips shifted forward.

He kept her hands secure, giving him room to look down between them and watch as he snapped his hips back against her. She was so wet, even more so than last time, and he could feel her clinging onto him as he pulled back out. He could even hear it, the sound of her taking him in and the messy slap as his skin met hers, missing any kind of rhythm at all while he tried to adjust to his whole world re-centering around her. The sight was too much, so he looked instead back to her breasts, taking one with his free hand and grabbing hold, her nipple getting squeezed between his fingers at the same time. It was worth the gasp he got, the sound of her mouth clamping shut as she mewled. He hadn't even meant to, had just wanted something to grab hold of, so he leaned forward to soothe where he had previously stung, taking her nipple into his mouth, biting softly as he pushed inside of her again.

It was getting harder to keep up with this slow pace, patience waning fast, so he put his hand on her hip to squeeze her as let himself go like he wanted, watched the way her breasts moved, the way she folded her legs higher and opened them more as the tendons in her neck strained. Everything was tightening and loosening, delicate little ripples from her fingers to her walls around him, casting abstract shadows all over her body that disappeared as soon as she made them. Her hands tested against his hold again, but when he let up the pressure, she caught his eye and shook her head vigorously, hair sticking to her cheek.

"You sure?" he asked, surprised. Maybe he shouldn't've been. It'd been her who'd pinned him down first.

"Daryl," she chastised, more than a touch annoyed.

Alright then. So he pinned down her hands again, harder this time, pulling them further up her head so her shoulders and arms were stretched high. Her tits were forced into him, and he kissed them both again before tasting up, licking the dips in her collarbone, the vein of her neck and her pulse point before turning his attention back between his hips.

He was going steady now, slow but hard, again and again and again, and he was trying to really make her feel him but it was never quite enough, not deep enough, just not enough. He wanted all of her, and he put that into every push, knew that she felt it in the way her breaths had changed to shallow, fast pants. Her legs turned into a vice at his waist, her heels at his back egging him on. He picked his head up to look at her face, wanting to see the way her eyes burned for him, but she was turned to the side again, her eyes still closed.

He glanced up to where he was holding her down, looking how even now her arms were straining and how she wanted to be there. And something else occurred to him, an idea that he didn't even know the origins of. Something she might hate. Something that could so easily tip this into something bad.

But maybe tip into something else, too. So he moved his hand from her hip to her throat, applying no pressure at all except to squeeze her lightly and turn her face back to his. Her mouth opened even wider, her lips swollen from his bites and hers, and when her eyes met his, there was so much fucking trust and need there that he almost wanted to look away.

But he didn't, watching the blue of her irises trained on him as she licked her lips. He used his hold on her throat to keep her eyes on him, his hand still barely even there, watching her eyelids fall nearly shut as he fucked her into the ground. He could feel her breaths ragged and hard under his hand, and it almost freaked him the fuck out how much he liked it. Her hair stuck in even more tendrils to the sweaty side of her face, and he squeezed her throat once more before reaching to push them back, bringing his hand to her chin to pull her up to a kiss, made rough by his movements into her. He could taste what he was doing to her on her tongue, the need and urgency and demand that he could feel reflected in her hips coming to meet his. She latched onto his lower lip suddenly, pulling it between her teeth, and he growled into her mouth, holding her chin more sternly to bring her eyes to his again.

One more kiss before he was releasing her hands so he could sit up straight, sliding out of her as he did. Her hips wriggled back down, her feet running along his sides, but he ignored it, giving her thigh a smart squeeze. He took her legs at the ankles and brought them up so they rested on either of his shoulders, and then didn't waste a second in realigning himself to stroke back into her heat. He didn't even try and go slow now, giving her everything, and when his pelvis came flush against her ass he watched as her fingers clawed into the dirt at her sides, her whole body tensing as she tightened impossibly around him.

He took his tongue between his teeth to help his concentration, grabbing her thighs to keep her in place, not holding anything back this time. He couldn't, and judging from the whimper that was on the peak of every one of her breaths, she didn't want him to. Her blush started low, flushing prettily across her chest, painting her deep pink before it made its way up her neck and cheeks. Her thighs started to shake, her feet locked tight behind his neck, and this had been good for her but he could make it better. Even if everything else was gone he could still have her and this and the feeling of her so completely around him.

He wrapped his arm around her thigh so that he could get his hand down between her legs, and now when he sank into her he could feel her clit, too. He rubbed her there as best he could, not so much circles this time as just rubbing her as consistently as he could. But she felt so good, and she was so tight around him, and he couldn't even move fast anymore but he could move hard.

She keened, a continuous little stream of sound, his name sprinkled throughout when he hit deep or his nail got her clit before his fingers did, and just looked up at him like she was helpless to it all. He heard his name like that, the cadence of it in her sweet voice, and he didn't even know what to do. It was all a frenzy, and he was slick all over and he was just aching. Aching for her, aching where she pulled at him, and Christ, he was aching to come. Different from that first night when she'd fallen over the edge without much work on his part, and if she was urgent he was getting desperate. He sat back on his heels, pulling him up his thighs, but could feel something had changed in his angle as soon as he did, could feel himself dragging hard against her walls. She put her hands above her head all on her own, reaching and grabbing into the ground as her whole body snapped into an arch. Her head turned to the side and she bit into the flesh of her arm as she cried out. He didn't dare stop, almost afraid he was going to hurt her with how hard he pressed her clit in time with his next stroke.

"There there there," she said, and her hips jerked to a halt with him still inside her as her walls closed sporadically around him, his thumb still at her clit. Not even seconds later, she was just collapsing, her hips riding it out so that she grinded against him as her whole torso undulated in a sensuous wave. And he couldn't do anything but sit there and take it while it felt like she squeezed the literal life out of him, and he still couldn't come.

He took it for as long as he could, but it felt like she was swallowing him whole and she was using her legs as leverage to pull herself into his pelvis and she was too much for him to handle. Too hot and too tight and now that she was coming down she was just looking at him with lidded eyes, squeezing her thighs together and shimmying her hips as if he needed a reminder of what she could do to him. He pulled himself out, her legs falling off his shoulders to his hips, and he didn't even have to touch himself at all. Pins and needles everywhere, like someone had thrown him into a pool of ice water and he was just going to live infinitely in that moment of shock and realization. One stroke with his hand and he was gone, easy and fast, and he was louder than her as his come landed in streams along her stomach and thighs. And there was her, just looking at him, her arms still loose above her head and her legs languid around him. He only had the strength to stay straight for a second, and he crumpled against her, falling to her chest as the pervading satisfaction and relaxation spread irresistibly through his limbs.

He wanted to sleep. He didn't know if he'd ever wanted to sleep like this, like there was no other choice, and he knew it'd be good. He lifted his suddenly heavy head to check on her, try and guage where she was. Her eyes were still closed, so he mustered the rest of his energy and pushed himself up, his arms protesting and shaking as he held himself over her to get a better look at her face. He put his hand on her cheek, and then on her jaw, softer this time. She opened her eyes a sliver, angling her face towards his when she saw where he was.

"Hi," she said softly, still breathless.

He didn't return it, watching every muscle to see if there were any signs of the breakdown she had given him last time.

She raised an eyebrow as he stared. "What?"

He shrugged.

"Cat got your tongue?" she asked flippantly, but he took comfort in the way she brought her hand between them to stroke his arms. She sighed, a little exasperated. "Still here," she said simply, stretching her legs out and wincing at the stiffness. "I'm alright. Haven't lied to you yet, have I?"

"Guess not," he said, rolling off of her and onto his back, pulling his pants back up before grabbing her sweater from her bag handing it over. When she reached for it, he didn't let go, tugging it so she was pulled up closer to him. "Just don't want things like before."

She blinked, her eyes darting before landing on his again. "Promise."

Then she smiled, reaching out her other hand towards him and holding out her littlest finger. "Pinkie swear."

He stared at her for a second longer before nodding in acceptance, reaching to twine his finger around hers. But he didn't let go, instead using their connected hands to bring her closer so that their faces were just inches apart. Her lips were still swollen, her eyes so alive, and he couldn't help but kiss her again. It was softer, gentler, coals burning instead of flames roaring, but he was beginning to recognize what her sweetness tasted like. She moved her hand to push her fingers between his, and he dropped the sweater to wrap his fingers in her hair, resting at the side of her neck. He brought his thumb around her throat and squeezed ever so lightly, but she still gasped, and he liked the way that sound tickled his skin and made his whole body shudder.

They stayed in that position, their breaths meeting each other, neither moving. He felt her swallow, and she edged her cheek against his so that her breath met hot against his ear, and he felt another little shiver go down his spine. He didn't know exactly what he was doing, what he was waiting on. Just knew he wasn't ready to give up this moment. He didn't know when he'd get another one.

But they didn't have forever, and he finally dropped his hand from her neck and pulled away, still breathing hard.

Sometimes moments had to be enough.


	4. Chapter 4

**Back for more! I know the MSF kind of fucked us all up. And by kind of, I mean a shitton. But they live on in fanfiction, right? So here we go.**

**edit: this chapter has been revised since its publication!**

Things were different now. Beth knew it. She knew Daryl was different, and she knew that she was different. But things were always different, now, constantly changing and flowing and turning. She couldn't remember the last time there had been much consistency in anything, so she guessed this might go in the same list as everything else. She didn't sleep in a bed anymore, or snuggle up next to Judith for her afternoon naps, or cook in an actual pot with an actual spoon, and she'd slept with Daryl. Twice now. Maybe a third would come, the way things were going. She might be okay with that. More than okay.

She actually thought she might be handling it better than he was.

Which was dumb and childish in plenty of ways, two things she just wasn't anymore. It hadn't been him crying on her shoulder that first time, or kissing her, or really any of it. It had been her falling apart, close to dead inside or at least wishing she was, and him that had helped pick up whatever pieces of herself she had dropped in front of him. But it also hadn't been her that had resorted to sullen silence afterwards, or stifling, stubborn anger that he lashed out to her any chance she gave him. But that had changed, too. He was still quiet now, but at least she didn't sense any malice behind it. The quiet, she could deal with. That hadn't been the hard part. She could give him space, if he needed it. She was good at giving people what they needed. But the anger, and the relentless nature of it, was a different story.

So he was less quiet now, a little less gruff with her, and he would actually make eye contact on the few occasions he would speak to her throughout the day. Such pretty eyes, she'd noticed, always watching, seeing everything, missing nothing. Daryl. She kept repeating his name in her head, over and over, testing how it tasted now, trying to see if it was any different. She stared at the back of his head while they walked, smiling every time she got more than three words from him at a time. It wasn't conversation, and she still knew barely anything about him, but it was a start.

She hadn't really known him in the prison. She was aware of him, of what he did and what he meant, that he had a job and he did it well. He did a lot of things well, really. She remembered one night when Judy had been absolutely inconsolable. No amount of singing or walking or cooing could console her, and Beth had been near tears herself with frustration. This was her job, and no one else's. No one else was quite as good. She wasn't invited on runs, and nobody was asking her opinion on what the group should do, but she could take care of that baby. If she couldn't do that then she would feel close to useless, and so when Daryl had walked in on her she was absolutely begging Judith to stop crying for just a minute.

"She hungry?" he had asked, ignoring Beth's own tears.

"She won't eat anythin'," Beth sniffed, wincing as Judith screamed particularly loudly. "She's not hot, she doesn't need changin'," she listed, clutching the baby tighter to her chest. "I've tried everythin', she just won't stop."

"I got her," Daryl said, putting his bow on the table and reaching out for her.

Beth had hesitated before passing her over to his waiting hands. Her arms went limp, sore from holding the extra weight for hours. "I tried everythin' I could think of," she repeated, both pleading and apologizing, following behind Daryl as he walked slowly to the door leading to the courtyard. She almost stopped him, worried that the screams would draw unwanted attention, but decided to let him carry on, desperation and curiosity winning out.

The sound of walkers pressing up against the fence met them as soon as he shouldered the doors open. Beth hated that noise more than anything. More than the prison, more than her father's missing leg, the constant grumbling and groaning and moaning reminded her that the world was over. She had tried to be positive, to smile when no one else wanted to or could, but that sound made it so hard.

She got so caught up in the noise that it took her a second to realize she could no longer hear Judith screaming. She turned to where Daryl was holding her, her back to his chest, as Judith stared in seeming wonderment at the landscape around her.

"What did you do?" she asked, not even wanting to move in case she triggered the screaming again.

Daryl shrugged, his eyes on the top of the baby girl's head. "Cold air shocks her, makes her quiet. Change of scenery. New stuff to look at." He bounced her a little in his arms. "Did it with Merle's drunk ass when he wouldn't shut up." He smiled a little, so slight but such a change from his usual somber expression that Beth couldn't help but stare, listening as his voice got as close to cooing as she thought it probably could, so quiet all she could hear was a murmured "sweetheart."

It was as if he had forgotten Beth was there, shifting Judy up onto his shoulder, his biceps nearly as big as she was. She wanted to talk, to ask him how it was he was so good with her, but instead she watched, and she noticed. She noticed how he supported that little head when it lolled in sleep, how calm he seemed as he took a deep breath and shifted his weight onto one leg, how even in just moonlight you could see how blue his eyes were, how weary, how tired.

She had noticed him.

"We're on huntin' grounds," he said, interrupting her reminiscing. "Probably someplace with a roof nearby."

She smiled. "How is it that you're always findin' cabins out in the middle of the woods?" she asked, looking carefully at the ground so that she didn't trip. "Is that some sixth sense you aren't tellin' me about? Do you -"

She was concentrating so hard that she didn't notice that he had stopped, and walked straight into him.

"Stop here for a bit. See if I can find somethin' for us to eat."

She gathered some wood for a fire while he went off, never going far. It didn't take long before he was back with a string of two squirrels.

Squirrels. Always with the squirrels.

She sat while he got to work, trying not to listen to the sound of him cutting off its limbs and tail. The fire was hot, and the humidity wasn't helping any, either. She looked around, wiping off her forehead as the heat got to her more.

She had been playing with an idea for the past couple days, and now seemed like as good a time as any to bring it up. "I was thinkin'," she said, but then stopped, her fingers fidgeting. She wasn't exactly nervous. Nervous wasn't something she had room for. But she couldn't tell how he was going to react, if it was going to be more of that visceral, spitting anger or something closer to compliance. If this worked, and if he went with it, it could actually be good. "We don't have a plan, right? We're not goin' anywhere in particular?"

The motions of the knife stopped, and he turned his head to glance at her. His face screwed up a little bit, obviously thinking about what he was going to say, but he seemed to settle on silence, giving her a shrug instead.

Beth straightened her shoulders, trying to look him in the eye. "I want a drink. I haven't tried it before, not really, and I want to."

"Guessin' you ain't talkin' 'bout water." He seemed to want to smile, which relieved her at least a little bit. He moved like he was about to resume his skinning, but then straightened to look at her. "You ain't had a drink before?"

She shifted, always uncomfortable in his scrutiny. It wasn't like it mattered. "I mean. Sometimes at parties I would have some hard lemonade -"

He barked a laugh, looking back down at his squirrel. "That don't count for shit."

She blushed hard. She blushed so easily. She bet he would've been one of those boys laughing at the girls for not even being able to handle a Mike's Hard. Or, more likely, he would've been one of those boys who didn't show up at all. "I know it doesn't. But it's not like we have anythin' better to do." She tried to smile, lifting her shoulders in a shrug. "Might be fun?"

He glanced back up at her, finally looking her in the eye, and she smiled, tilting her head. "Please?" she lilted.

She knew she had him before he even answered, her grin breaking wider as he quickly failed to meet her eye, hiding behind his hair that was continuously falling in his face. "Fine," he said. "We'll get you a drink. But we ain't doin' none o' this hard lemonade shit."

She leaned back in self satisfaction. It was a victory, even if it was a small one. Tomorrow would be different from today. Tomorrow she'd have a drink in her hand, and the prison would be one more day behind them, one step closer to a memory. And if this actually worked, if he went along with her and the shallow excitement of it, this could be what she thought they might need: something different. No more aimless wandering. No more quiet days and even quieter nights, loaded silences and heated stares. So she leaned back, crossing her legs out in front of her and watching him work in silence while she thought of the possibility of tomorrow.

* * *

Daryl tried to ignore Beth as he started on skinning his catch. He wasn't sure what kind of fool's errand he had just agreed to, but he was already beginning to regret it. Where was he supposed to get her anything? Christ, last thing he needed was to worry about was a drunk Beth. What if she was a cryer, or a runner? Too late for that now. He had already agreed, and she looked so damn pleased that he couldn't make himself take it back.

He pushed his hair back from his face in frustration, strands of it falling back down immediately into his eyes. When had it gotten so fucking long?

Beth tapped on his shoulder. He almost flinched - he hadn't even noticed her standing up. "Here," she said, and held a headband out towards him. "I grabbed this for me but I think you might need it more."

He looked at the bright pink headband for a second before he realized what she was offering. "No," he said, turning away. "Forget it."

"Well, I don't have another hair tie. So this is it."

He looked back up at her face. She looked innocent enough, but what else was new? He waited for some sign that she was making fun of him, but her eyes were earnest when she pushed the headband toward him again.

He reached out suspiciously, narrowing his eyes as he moved faster to snatch it out of her hand. She seemed like she wanted to laugh, her lips twitching around a barely contained smile, but then she sat back down.

He didn't look at her as he pushed the hair band on, trying to forget that she was there altogether. It was just a band, for chrissake, and anyways, it was working. He could finally see what he was doing.

"What do you miss most?" she asked, conversational. "Before all this."

He honestly didn't see the point of talking about shit like this, but this was Beth, and he couldn't help but want to humor her. "Dunno," he said, stopping what he was doing to actually think on it. Truth was, he couldn't think of anything in particular. He didn't have much before and he didn't have much now. "Hot water, I guess. Drinkin' a beer at the end of the night," he said, shrugging before picking back up where he had left off, his hands covered in blood.

"I miss my cell phone," she said.

He almost snorted. Right. Cell phone. Because she was just a teenager, young -

"Nice just bein' able to call someone if you didn't know where they were," she continued, interrupting that trail of thought. She paused, and he looked up at her to see her smiling at him. "Besides, if I had my cell here I could take a picture of Daryl Dixon with his hair all done up."

She smiled even wider as she said it, and even though his neck flushed hot, he wasn't angry. It struck him that this was the first time he had seen her smile like this, really, truly smiling, the light just beaming out of her, and he didn't even care that it was at his expense.

Instead of answering, he raised one gut and blood covered hand and flicked it at her, watching a sprinkling of the stuff land on her skin, joining the muck already on her shirt.

She gasped, her face all screwed up in disgust. He smiled a little before looking back down, acting as if nothing had happened.

"I'll get you back for that, Daryl Dixon. I'm gonna get you back so good."

He didn't answer, and she didn't say anything more. They sat in quiet, but it was the nicer kind of quiet, uninterrupted until a roll of distant thunder came in along with a welcome breeze.

"Think that'll hit us?" she asked, looking around.

The sky was bright blue, unmarred by clouds except for dark, angry looking ones a mile over.

"Dunno," he said. "Could miss us. Could hit us." He looked around. "Might should find some cover while we can."

"I forgot," she said, smiling again. "Where there's a Dixon, there's a cabin, right?"

"We're near 85," he said. "There'll be a rest stop. Convenience store. Might have what you're lookin' for." He looked at her, judging. "If you're willin' to walk for it."

She squared her shoulders, sitting up straighter. "What else are we gonna do but walk?"

"I guess," he agreed.

And so, after the eating was done, they walked.

* * *

It was near nightfall by the time their task was done. Miles to the road, to the gas station, to the shitty liquor store with bars on all the windows that thankfully was only a mile further down, on the county line. Now they finally had made it back to an empty ranger station, sitting out at a picnic table with their haul in front of them: a six pack for Daryl, and a glass bottle of some Jim Beam whiskey Beth had chosen.

"Ain't exactly high brand shit," Daryl had commented as she grabbed a fifth of it.

"Will I be able to tell?" she asked back. "I remember findin' a bottle of this in Maggie's closet," she told him, and had stubbornly taken it with her. Not that he even really cared much.

But now she didn't seem so sure.

"I didn't think it was gonna be that easy," she admitted. "Nothin's ever that easy."

"Don't think beer is high on people's list when they're worried 'bout bein' someone's next meal."

"Guess not," she said, then eyed his glass. "You're not gonna join me?" she asked, hopeful.

"This is your thing," he said, sitting back. No, he wasn't going to drink around her. One of them had to be sober, and anyways, he didn't trust himself. More than one bar fight could've been avoided if he hadn't let himself be pushed into more.

"Right," she said, sizing the bottle up as she pulled at a loose thread on her sleeve.

He was both amused and annoyed at her hesitation. "You gonna drink it or you gonna stare at it?"

She wrinkled her nose at him, but it looked like the push she needed. She grabbed the handle, twisting at the lid while he grabbed a beer and did the same.

She looked at him. "I thought you weren't drinkin'."

"Ain't drinkin' liquor, no. Just take your damn shot."

She looked at him for a second longer, but then picked the bottle up, raising it for a healthy swig. He did the same, but before he could even swallow Beth was coughing. She fanned her face, turning brighter red by the second.

"That _burns_," she said, and looking at him with an accusing expression that made him laugh despite his better judgement. "That's gross. That's the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted. People drink that? People pay to drink it?"

"Yeah. S'better cold." His own beer wasn't tasting too good, either, more bitter than he remembered and warm and lingering on his tongue. "Gets easier. Try again."

And she did, seemingly desperate to make it work. She coughed just as much as she did the first time, but she choked it down, following that gulp with another.

Half an hour later she was standing, walking around the perimeter of the open space while he watched her carefully.

"My stomach feels warm," she told him, her voice light and airy as she bounced up onto a fallen tree. "It's kinda nice."

He didn't answer, going over to a nearby tree and sitting down so he could see her alright.

"You remember when we heard those guys, that night we fought?" she asked, holding her arms out for balance as she walked along the fallen log.

He sat back against the wood, stretching his legs out in front of him as he unscrewed another beer, finally looking at what shit he had managed to grab. Bud Light. It'd do. Wasn't like he was picky anyhow, and anything lukewarm as it was would be the same level of shitty anyways. "What about it?"

"You grabbed me and I couldn't even do anythin' to fight," she said, nearly slipping as the heel of her boot scraped along the bark.

He watched as he waited for her to get to her point, sitting up a little straighter as she nearly slipped again. She looked at him and shot him a smile that bordered near mischievous before continuing on her path. "I think I got a few pounds on ya, girl," he said, sipping again.

She reached the end of the log and swivelled around to go back over. "Yeah, but I don't know hardly anythin' about fightin'," she said, then stopped to look at him. "I never learned much. But now I'm thinkin' I should."

"You've held your own alright," he said, watching the muscles of her legs work to keep her upright. He was going to have to get up soon, be ready to catch her in the fall that was seeming more and more inevitable.

"I don't want to just hold my own." She was speaking a little too loud, voice almost belligerent. "What if - what if you aren't here?"

"Won't happen." He'd already come to terms with that, that she was here and that he needed it to say that way. But he couldn't deny the girl was making some sense. "You sayin' you wanna learn?"

"You gotta at least know more than me, right?" She reached the end of the log again, and hopped over to an abandoned stump nearby. She put up her fists towards him, a sloppy motion. "Unless you're scared to fight me, Mr. Dixon."

He felt a little twitch somewhere deep in his navel as she used his last name, but he ignored it, standing up with his beer still in his hand. "Naw," he said, walking a bit closer to where she stood. She smiled wider, letting her arms fall as she bent to pick up the bottle from the ground. It looked like she had barely dipped into it, but all the same she swayed as she stood, her cheeks tinged bright red. "Thought ya said you could handle this stuff," he said, gesturing to the bottle.

She laughed again, the lightest he'd heard her sound in days. "I can." She straightened up. "Are you gonna help me or not?" she asked, holding her hand out.

He hesitated, wondering if it was wise to humor her, but then got closer. She put her hand on his shoulder, bearing down on it as she hopped down. But, instead of letting go, as soon as her feet were on the ground, she wrapped both her arms around his neck, shifting to the tips of her toes so that their faces were almost even. It seemed like she might fall still, the balance all wrong, and so he put his arm around her, holding her up. He eyed the bottle on the ground.

"Christ, Beth, you ain't even had three shots worth," he said, and he couldn't help but be amused as well as annoyed when he looked down at her still clinging to his shoulders.

Fuck. Blue eyes got him every time. Every damn time. She was still smiling, her face bright and alive, the corners of her eyes wrinkled, little flyaway curls falling across her cheeks. His fingers flexed around the beer.

"I might be a bit of a lightweight," she said, seemingly clueless as to how close they were. "Never drank much to find out."

His lips twitched. He could imagine her, hair down, all sunshine, throwing some back. "Might be, huh?" He dropped his arm from around her and disentangled himself, tapping her hand. "Make those fists again."

She took something like a fighting stance, spreading her feet and holding up both hands in fists.

He took another swig. "Feet shoulder width apart. Bend your knees a little," he said, circling around her, reaching out to untense her shoulders. "Thumbs go outside. Inside and you'll break your hand soon as you try and hit anyone."

"You got me from behind," she said, turning her head to look at him.

"Just do as I say," he muttered, and stepped in closer, reaching around and adjusting her arms so they weren't so stiff, pulling down her hands so they were closer to her. He only touched her with the tips of his fingers, trying to keep contact at a minimum. "Gotta be ready to move, see?"

"Y-yeah." He was so close to her that he could hear when she swallowed. She turned a little, arms falling slightly, fingers uncurling. "This how you learned?"

He glanced down at her, the desire to touch her even more so intense that he wanted to stop altogether. "No," he said, shaking his head and pulling away. He couldn't even teach her to make a fist without this immense bullshit hanging over his head.

It took her a second to realize he was gone. She turned around, cheeks still tinged red. "What's wrong? You barely said anythin'."

"You're right," he said, nodding and stepping back, trying to take another drink before realizing the bottle was empty. He tossed it away, the shattering glass louder than he was expecting. She frowned, looking at him with disapproval, but he ignored her. "Y'wanna know somethin'?" he asked, almost laughing, pushing his hair back out of his face. The blood had started to go thicker and faster in his veins, and he knew his voice was elevated. "This don't fuckin' matter. Don't matter if you can throw a punch. Someone comin' at you, you got one second."

She looked confused. "Of course it matters."

It wasn't even that he didn't think it was worth it for her to learn. It was the idea of it being necessary at all. He wasn't fool enough to think it wouldn't be. But it wasn't a group fucking responsibility anymore. If something happened, it fell squarely on his shoulders, and his alone. Especially after being with her the way he had. Standing here, watching her drunkenly swing at him, it felt like a game. But it wasn't, and couldn't ever be. He couldn't afford to play along. They were losing light, she was going to be useless to keep watch, and a storm might be headed their way. He shook his head at her. "We're done here. Best go inside."

She'd looked concerned, at first, but now she looked irritated. "Why do you do that?" she asked, and there was a drunken petulance in her voice that he immediately didn't like. "We were just havin' fun. We were _doin_' somethin'."

He didn't know what to say, couldn't even begin to articulate the mess of a path his thoughts had taken, so he shrugged angrily at her. "Just what'll happen. Ain't my fault if that's more than you can handle." He reached out to grab her arm, but she yanked away from him.

"This is bull. You're bull. You're just scared." She leaned down, picked up the bottle, and swigged heavily. He had to admire the way her face turned even brighter red as she obviously struggled to hold it back. "I ain't gonna be scared anymore. We don't get to be scared."

She was so fierce now, looking at him, fire and sunshine all wrapped in one. Too much for him to handle. So instead he just looked at her, looked at the bottle in her hand, the way her shirt hung loose from her shoulders, the leanness of her arms and the determination on her face. "Alright," he said.

She looked surprised, geared up for the fight. "Alright?"

"Yeah."

Surprise changed into confusion. "Fine."

"Put the whiskey down," he said, but she didn't, looking at him suspiciously. "You wanna learn or what, Greene?"

She grinned slowly, putting the whiskey on the ground, and when he gestured for her to turn around she did so without arguing. Suddenly the mood was changed, and though he could still feel the pulsing of his blood in his veins and heart and pretty much everywhere, the anger was gone, and he was smiling when he came up behind her. "Someone grabs you from behind," he said, and put one arm around front of her shoulders, the other around her waist, bending down to speak into her ear, "tell me what you try and do."

She hesitated before starting to try and move her arms, but he held them tighter.

"How am I supposed to do anythin'?" she asked, trying to wriggle free.

"Don't have your arms, what d'ya have?" he asked, his voice bumping with the strain of trying to keep her down. Her skin was warm, a little furnace in his arms as her hips bumped back against him over and over.

"My legs," she said, and before he was expecting, she threw herself against him, her legs flailing, more fight than she had ever given him before as she tried to make some kind of contact.

"Christ, Beth," he warned, nearly losing his footing before she stopped kicking. "Gimme a damn warning."

She let herself become almost deadweight in his arms, slipping down a few inches before he tightened his hold. She crooked her head to look up at him. "What, the girls you grab normally give you a warnin'?"

Sassing him, eyes sparkling and the corners of her mouth barely turned upward. He shifted her up so she was back solidly on her feet, ignoring her words and putting two fingers at her cheek to turn her head. "Eyes forward, girl."

Almost imperceptibly, she shivered, a little jolt that sent a similar shot of nerves down his spine. She did what he asked for only a second, turning her head back to look at him again. Her hands came up to rest against his arms still around her. "I think, I-" she stuttered, still looking at him. "I think I almost had it," she finished, but any smugness she had managed was lost. She raised a shoulder in an attempt at a shrug. "Not like I have to worry too much about it with you here, right?"

Which went straight back to what he'd been fucking freaked out in the first place. She trusted him, too damn much. But, as much as he hated it, he also liked it. He knew he liked it. He nodded, only able to look her in the eye for a second at a time before glancing back at the ground, working on memorizing all the veins and the exact shade of green of the leaves that had been shaken to the ground. "Tryin'."

She pushed up, planting a little kiss on the corner of his jaw. Maybe it was even supposed to be innocent, as innocent as her holding out her hand to ask for help down or falling into chest. But he pulled his arm tighter around her, feeling her hands digging tighter into their hold on him. "I'm not worried."

He believed her. And he wanted her.

He wanted her so damn bad.

"Beth," he started, and she stiffened in his arms, pushing back against him, the heels of her boots almost coming to a rest on the toes of his. "Get inside," he finished, his voice lower than he expected.

She blinked at him, then tilted her head back down, her foot scuffing against the ground. He waited, looking at the top of her head, heart pounding painfully in his chest, her heat radiating into him without mercy.

But then she looked back up at him, blinking one more time against the sun. "Alright."

She twisted out of his arms, her hand grazing down his arm until her fingers could grab hold of his, and walked them both to the station. He let her lead them in, glancing at the abandoned whiskey one more time before shutting the door firmly behind them.

**ha. Do you guys hate me? I would probably hate me. But this chapter would have been way too long with the sexy bits. It's already mostly written, don't worry. But show this some lovin'. I can be persuaded to publish sooner. I'm awful like that. **


	5. Chapter 5

**introducing part deux. You've earned it. **

**edit: this chapter has been revised**

As soon as Daryl shut the door, Beth could feel the tension and anticipation wash over her in sheets, covering her skin like the rain that was threatening to fall outside and making her hands shake as her stomach dropped. She wasn't even sure what had just happened outside, couldn't even begin to map out whatever thoughts he'd had or pinpoint when things had switched from angry to a whole different kind of heated. Maybe he just couldn't touch her at all, anymore, not without it feeling like it could be more. Like it should be more.

She didn't turn around to face him yet, but could feel him looking at her all the same, eyes burning all over her back. She felt it in the shiver that ran up her spine as she walked forward, looking around at the abandoned station. He tossed their things to the floor, placing his bow more carefully, but then there was only silence as he watched her move. Waiting patiently for her to start this, and she knew it would have to be her. That she could stand here all night with her back to him and he'd still be waiting for her to tell him it was alright.

So she took the time to take stock of the room around them. A small waiting room with an ugly floral couch was to her right, an office with a couple dusty desks to her left. A short hallway in front of them lead to a door opening to the back porch. Small. Quiet. No places to hide, and it had that kind of undisturbed stillness in the air. Untouched. This place was distinctly empty, letting her concentrate as she tried to think through the logistics of being here with him at her back.

She wasn't anxious, but she wasn't anything close to calm, either, nerves alive and dancing with the anticipation of it all. She knew what would happen next and what to expect, exactly how his fingers would feel at her neck and the grip of his hands in her hair. But there was something concretely charged in the air. She wasn't scared, no - she didn't think she'd ever been actually scared around him, not even that time in the woods - and she'd kissed him again, and she'd lead him in here, and she was ready. Her thighs were clenching and her heart was stomping in her chest in time with the thrumming of her blood and she could almost feel his fingers between her legs, how wet he'd made her and how good she'd felt and she was _ready. _Suddenly it didn't matter that she didn't have an answer for herself, what they were doing, how truly dumb this was on so many levels. _This_ mattered. He mattered. What was about to happen and what had been happening mattered. So, suddenly, nothing else did.

And beyond that, all that unarticulated feeling of _something important_, she just wanted to be close to him. That first time, when she had practically thrown herself at him, she had been searching for something. She wanted to be close to someone again, to not feel so desperately alone, and he had given her that. He gave her something she was missing. She didn't know his motivations, but when things got going between them, she didn't care to ask. Even when he hesitated, even when he backed away and his fingers stuttered with questions of what they were doing, she thought she could sense that he was searching for something, too.

And maybe she gave it to him.

So she turned to him, swiveling on her heel, ready to take him on like she knew she could, but she was nearly stopped short. The way he was looking at her took her breath away, forcing a thrill from her stomach to her chest, making her stand up straight. The heel of her boots clicked on the wood panelled floor as she walked backwards away from him, and she pulled at her fingers self consciously. She could still feel the alcohol in her system, but it was being burned away by everything else. She wished it would stay, to help her say something to him. It was hard to come up with any words when he was looking at her like he couldn't see anything else. So she gave him a daring kind of smile instead, crossing one leg behind the other and linking her hands behind her back.

He didn't return it, watching her with a nearly appraising expression, head tilted back like he wasn't impressed. It wasn't until she had stopped moving that he came forward instead, taking slow and deliberate steps toward her, making her nerves soar with something that punched so much adrenaline through her that she kept edging towards fear. When he was in front of her, he didn't stop, putting a hand on her waist and pushing her back until there was no room for them to go. She was trapped, now, between him and the wall, her eyes on his chest and her hair falling past her ears.

She was already breathing so hard. It was all she could hear, her breath and his, maybe even their heartbeats mixing together. Everything else was stifling quiet. It was as if the whole world had stopped, just her and him, the only two things that existed. While before she had been too distracted to even look at him, now she couldn't break eye contact, didn't even want to blink. His hair fell to her forehead, and he was so close that it would have been easy for him to lean over and kiss her. But he didn't. Instead, his fingers found her hips, drawing a slow, tickling line up her sides, coming back down her stomach and touching her midriff. He just barely touched the top of her jeans before he moved back up, fingertips brushing over each of her ribs and thumbs over the sides of her breasts. He did this, over and over again, not even really touching her, but every track of his hands left her burning hotter and hotter. He was so difficult, so touch and go that she didn't know if he was doing this on purpose or if he needed to ease into this as much as she needed him to actually move. She angled her head up, hoping he would know to take the hint and kiss her, but instead he just moved his head so that the corner of his mouth met her temple, his breath fanning over her hair and tickling her cheek.

The tension was unbearable, and he seemed content to keep it that way, moving like he had all the time in the world. He pulled her shirt up so that now he was on her skin, and she shivered as the tips of his fingers forced goosebumps along her side. She tried following his lead, twisting into his hand, unbuttoning her shorts and pushing out of those and her shoes, too, just for good measure, but he didn't pursue it. She swayed forward so that her hips met his, and she could feel his mouth quirking into something like a stubborn smile. She tried again, bringing her hands up to his elbows and gripping hard, trying to force him closer to her.

The change happened in a second. One moment his teasing hands were only just barely there on her body, and the next they were pinning her hands against the wall. He crushed his body against hers, so close she could feel the press of his buckle and jacket zipper pressing through her shirt and into her stomach. He looked down at her for just a second, reading her face, and the expression on his face had morphed into something else.

He was going to rip her apart.

She wasn't sure what he saw as he gazed down at her, but it must have been good, because he leaned down to kiss her so hard her head thudded back against the wall. She squeaked a little, surprised, but then she kissed him back with the same eagerness, excitement working its way through her body. The stubble on his cheeks rubbed raw against her lips and her cheeks, but she liked that feeling, liked the way he rubbed into every part of her. She'd been noticing it since that first time, little tracks of himself that he'd left behind, places where she'd been scraped raw or pressed on a little too hard. She could lose every inch of herself to him, follow the stories of his touch on her skin.

He let go of her hands, reaching instead for her face. His palms were hot against her cheeks, holding her head to his. It was messy, this kiss, but she liked it more for it, another noise catching in her throat as he kissed her deeper. And then, because she could, because she'd been finished a while ago with feeling bad about any of the things that made her feel good, she took one of his hands and pulled it back to her neck.

It was obvious what she was asking. He looked at her, blue and steel and ice. "Beth." Voice even deeper than usual, gravel and concrete and rough with her.

"I liked it." Something new, something daring and unexpected. She couldn't pull together articulate thoughts, but there was his hand hot and huge on her, and there was just that she felt even safer with it there. Safer than when he was watching over her while she slept, safer than when he'd caught her in the woods. Having his hand around her throat made her feel almost as close to him as when he was actually inside of her. "Please, just - I'll tell you. If I stop liking it. I will."

He stared her down for a couple seconds longer, and even though he'd done it before she thought he may deny her now. But then he slowl adjusted his hand, his thumb reaching across her throat so gently, but the power was there, making her lungs thrum. He leaned in closer as his hold tightened slightly, and she pushed up against him to bite his lip, shoving one hand under his shirt to grab frantically at him.

It was then that he used his hold on her to push her back so she was against the wall again. She could feel the pressure on her windpipe, now, her breaths making more noise as she forced them out, but it was so good. Everything in tighter focus, his eyes traveling all over her face checking on her, his other hand sneaking around her waist to her back. She looked right back at him, and bit her lip before testing his hold by pushing into his hand, pulling his hips into hers.

She only barely caught the corner of his mouth lifting into a smile before he was kissing her, his hand leaving her neck to wrap firmly around her back. His hands were so warm that she could feel them through her shirt, and he squeezed her into him before finding the backs of her thighs and squeezing her there too. When she breathed he was at her neck, kissing her where he'd squeezed her, and the only thing she could manage to get out was a whimper.

She never would have guessed that she liked this, being held down anywhere, having his hand on her neck or throat or hands, the words that came out of his mouth as he touched her. Or just the sounds he'd forced out of her, the pressing desperation of needing him. Being raised Southern Baptist didn't give you a good concept of everything sex could involve.

But she was a fast learner.

She pulled his shirt up to get at his buckle, getting it done easier than last time, quickly pushing his jeans down with one fell yank. Before she could do anything else, he was using his hold around her to lift her a few inches into the air.

She squealed, laughing, but he said nothing, walking them to the couch and sitting down so that she landed straddling onto his lap, his length between them jutting against the restriction of his boxers. She was still laughing, and even if she was was wildly aware of how naked they both were, she was so happy. Comfortable in her own skin, comfortable with his hands pressing gently up her spine to pull her to him, comfortable with his lips at her shoulder and her hands in his hair.

The laughter died down slowly, pushed away by the warmth of his chest, transforming into a nervous, anxious need. That was new to her, too. _Needing_ this. It was an ache, deep inside past her navel, thrumming more and more intensely with every touch he had for her. He was almost lazy, now, back to those slow, steady movements as he pulled her shirt off of her and then getting her bra high enough up her chest so that her breasts were bared. She raised her arms so that he could take that off of her, too, and then he sat still while she unbuttoned his shirt so that he could shrug out of it.

And then they were both still.

He was so good at not moving, almost catlike in how patient he could be. She broke first, humming a little as she reached out to his chest, dipping her fingers into the shadows left by the tendons of his shoulders. She knew he was strong, of course she knew, but she could feel it under his skin. Muscles, hard and worked and curving and bowing into a graceful landscape, and she suddenly felt so small on top of him. It wasn't a bad feeling, and the more she looked at him the more she could feel herself speeding up - her breath, her heart, her blood, her hands. She froze when he reached for her face, tucking hair behind her ear and going back further to tug her hair out of its ponytail. It fell around her shoulders, but he rewrapped it around his hand, putting the other on her waist and guiding her gently to him, his mouth opening when her open legs made contact with where he strained for her.

But she didn't need his guidance this time. She knew what to do, what they both needed, her body taking over as instinct drove her to him.

* * *

Beth's thighs held tighter around his hips, her hands pushing down onto his shoulders, and Daryl wasn't sure where to look. This was the clearest he had been able to see her, warm yellow light pouring in through the windows, but still, he nearly didn't want to look at all. She was just so damn soft, even the planes of lean muscle he could see flexing. Her skin was smooth and tight, every movement graceful and fluid, every curve delicate. Soft, and delicate, and warm, and all these other things that he wasn't. That nobody was anymore. And she'd always been pretty, a pretty girl with a pretty voice, but it wasn't until these past few days that he'd seen that she was beautiful. That she defied all logic. _Beautiful_.

He thought that word might have slipped out his throat, because she flashed a look at him with flushed cheeks. He used his hold on her hair to pull her forward, but she was already making a rhythm of her own. Her hips were moving, grinding once along the length of him, the cotton of their underwear the only thing between them. He felt his hips move up to follow along with hers without any effort from him, heels digging against the floor. She tossed her head back, breasts pink and ribs pushing against her skin, and he wasn't even wondering if she wanted this. If she wanted him. She'd told him she did, she'd told him that she would tell him if that changed, but beyond that there was just how receptive she was to him. How concentrated she looked as she chased after her pleasure, a little noise getting stuck in her throat when she hit something she liked. He let go of her hair and put his hands on the small of her back, slipping under the band of her underwear to palm the supple curve he found there.

She leaned over, her hands moving to brace themselves on the wall behind his head, and now her chest was in his face, a pretty pink nipple nudging against his mouth. He kissed her there, messy and open, and as soon as he felt her hard on his tongue he closed his mouth to take her between his lips, shaking back a little to pull her taut. One of her hands shot to the nape of his neck to pull the strands, her nails digging into his scalp as she pressed him into her chest. But then she was pushing down onto him, grinding hard first against his thigh and then where he pitched hard between them, and Beth Greene was wet. Heated little frantic thing in his arms, wet enough for him to feel her on his thigh, and when she reached between them to cup him over his boxers he groaned so hard into her chest that he could feel the vibrations. And when she didn't stop there, merciless hands bringing the length of him out between them so that he knocked against her stomach, he winced with how good she already felt. If he hadn't already been inside her, he might've been ready to come right there.

She took away the safety of her chest as she leaned back so she could look down at where she held him, her index finger tracing the vein so gently it would have tickled if he hadn't been so hard. She passed the tips of her finger along the side of him, her nails scratching him lightly and making his stomach clench. Things were slowing back down, the wave of action cresting, and even though he could still see her breaths falling hard on her chest there was nothing hurried about her hands. So he followed her lead, and as she wrapped her hand around the base of him, he put his hand between her thighs, grabbing her underwear there and pulling until the fabric was nestled firmly between her lips. Her hand squeezed him as she inhaled sharply, her eyes finally looking to his.

She bit the corner of her lip like she was thinking, but then looked back down at him, making a pass up his shaft. "I like -" she said, but cut off with a deep breath as he returned in kind with a tug of her underwear, drawing her hips closer to him. "I like when you say things," she finished, still making lazy jerks of his cock.

He was so involved in watching her hands and his own that he almost couldn't register her words at all. "Like what?" he muttered, timing another tug along with the pass of her hand.

She swallowed, her body tensing as she shifted more onto her knees. "Like you can't help it."

He fucking couldn't help it. He couldn't help anything, not the way his hips were trying to follow her hand, not the way every single one of his muscles contracted when she squeezed him, not that even now he could barely stop himself from looking at where he had her strung. He didn't answer, instead slipping his fingers underneath her underwear, not stopping until he found her clit. He'd known she was wet, but feeling it was different. Silky and thick and hot, and he felt his thighs clench as the blood rushed through his body to his pelvis.

She stopped working him suddenly. "Tell me. What you like. I told you. It's only fair."

It was surreal, hearing her asking him something like that. She was a constant clashing of opposites, and no matter how often he heard it, he wasn't sure he would ever get used to it. "This," he answered, because it was the only word he could make himself say.

"This?" she asked, gripping him tight and passing her thumb over his tip. "Or this?" she asked, and she was smiling as she brought her other hand from his chest to run it lightly from the inside of his thigh to his balls.

He closed his eyes, sucking his cheeks between his teeth. It felt like his whole body was melting into the couch, everything except for what parts of him she touched. She kept going, delicate at first, but when he let out a breath of her name she seemed to gain confidence. He forced himself to open his eyes, not wanting to miss what was happening.

She was a fucking picture. He was sure there was a picture, somewhere, some fancy fucking piece of art that depicted what he was seeing: the last of the sunlight streaming in through the windows behind her, bathing her in golden liquid so that they were both drowning. She was lost in concentration, her eyes on her hands and on him, her nails scratching him lightly along his pelvis. Completely easy, her hands so soft, and it wasn't even about coming. His toes were curled, the base of his spine tingling but she was touching him and he was touching her and that would've been enough.

Except he wanted her to come on him again. His own hold on her had grown lax, but now he grabbed her underwear again and yanked them harder than he had before so that her hips were above his own. "Keep goin'," he said when her hands stilled, pushing his fingers back so he was on her cunt again. He went to her center, pushing his middle finger inside while he held her in place with his other hand on her hip. It was just his finger, sinking easily knuckle deep inside of her, but she crumpled a little, her hand flattening out on his stomach.

"Like that?" he asked, hoarse with how much he wanted her as he watched the way her face changed with every slow pump of his finger. He switched it up then, focusing two of his fingers on her clit, rubbing as steadily as the wetness would allow. "Or that?"

He didn't need her to answer. She doubled over, letting go of him, catching herself with a hand on his chest. She moved the other down to where he was rubbing her as the hand still on his chest clenched, her nails catching into his skin. It was like she wasn't even here anymore, not all of her, but he still recognized that same ferocity she had given him outside, single minded concentration as she chased after what he was offering. What she was trusting him to give her. When she looked at him again, it was with nothing but need, lips plump and hair gone wild.

"Thassit, girl," he praised as she pushed her hips into his hand. He looked past her at her ass as it rose and fell, the small of her back arching more and more sweetly. He kept murmuring to her as he watched her, not even sure what the fuck he was saying but it didn't even matter as long as she wanted to hear it. His wrist was beginning to cramp, but he pushed through it, listening to the sound of his fingers working her over.

She let go of his hand, giving him no warning as she grabbed his cock and in one motion sank onto it, guiding him easily inside.

"Fuckin' Christ," he grunted, moving his hand so he could look down at where he had disappeared inside of her. Her hips undulated against him, first raising only to slink back down, taking in most of his inches. He spared a glance at her face, but when he saw her looking down exactly where he had been he let himself stare.

It was clear she wasn't real sure about what she was doing being on top, moving her hips in an awkward little circle as she tried to find an angle that let him slide more easily inside. It was also clear it didn't matter at all. All he could do was hold on - literally, hold on, grabbing his own cock already wet with her to keep himself still - and try not to think. After he couldn't take her wriggling anymore, he grabbed onto her waistband to guide her towards him so that her face was above his. This time, when she came back down, she took him to the base, making him shiver all over as spikes of a nagging, raw ache pulled at his muscles.

She flexed experimentally, her breathing shaky as he hands found his shoulder. She looked at him more curiously than the situation should have allowed. "Can you feel this?" she asked, sounding way too fucking innocent as she squeezed her walls around him, but of course he knew better by now.

He felt like he was being swallowed whole, nodding once with a set jaw to answer her question. He used his feet on the floor as leverage to push his hips up into her, letting go of her underwear to thread his hand through the hair at the back of her head and pulling her forcefully down, kissing her as soon as she was in reach. There wasn't any fucking skill into what he was doing, just tongue against tongue, their teeth clicking as he held her to him tighter. Her hips made a slow drag up and back down his length, tight and hot, making him curse against her mouth. The fabric of her underwear dragged against him, adding friction to wetness, scratching at him and sending his sensitivity overboard.

Her rhythm was slow, leaving him to almost suffer as he was left with no choice but to feel every aching second. None of his subtle urging could get her to go faster, not his hands on her hips or her ass, not the pull of her hair or the touch of her clit. He let her work herself on top of him for as long as he could, distracting himself with the sound of her breaths getting shallower and faster, the little hints of a moan that would come when she liked what she felt.

When he could take no more, when his hips were jutting up into her and his hands were nearly twitching with unspent energy and the need to go faster, he stilled her on top of him with a firm hand to the small of her back. "Stand up for a sec," he said.

He didn't give her a choice, wrapping an arm around her and taking her with him as he got to his feet. She went along with it at first, but made a little "hmph" sound as he set her down and twisted her around so her back was against him. He gave his cock a few tugs as he wrapped her hair around his hand again, the wetness she had left on him making it almost too easy.

He'd pictured her like this, briefly, since that first time. Having her on her stomach for him, being able to pull her hips back into him, the whole canvas of her pretty back open to him, her tits in his hands. So when she caught up with him, knocking her knees apart and then reaching back to place her hand over his, he almost lost himself completely. He was nothing but her hand on him and his hands on her, everything exploding in red. He prodded her forward until her knees hit the couch, just barely containing himself from bending over and just _fucking_ her.

But. There was what she'd said. There was her asking him to pin her hands down, her bringing him to her neck. He tugged at her hair, bringing her back a few inches until her head was nestled into the crook of her ass was pressing against his cock. She was looking at him, her mouth open but her eyes alive with the same energy she'd given when his hand was at her throat.

"This alright?" he asked, trying to bring his voice back to normal so that she knew the question was real.

She blinked slowly. "Yeah," she said, and licked her lips. "Yeah. We're good." And then, as if to prove it, she reached back again to stroke at him, planting her mouth at his jaw.

"Yeah, it's good," he groaned, reaching his arm around her waist as he listened to the wet sound of her hand on him. "You're so good, Beth," he said, and in response her kiss turned into a bite, teeth scraping at his skin.

This time, he did lose it. Before she had the chance to do anything else he was pushing her onto the couch. He got on with her, turning them both sideways so they had more room. He nudged her head forward, and she arched her back, pushing her ass back into him. He held her firm by the waist, leaning back so he could have a clear view as he guided himself slowly inside her. She was so close that he had to give up and nudge her knees further apart, but this time when he pushed into her her thighs made it so tight that they were both able to feel it. He put a hand on her hip to tug her back to him as he drove inside.

This time, she moaned, loud and desperate, her head dropping so her shoulder blades butted up against her skin.

He kept thinking that it couldn't get better. He had a feeling he was about to be proved wrong again.

* * *

Beth hadn't thought it could get better than last time. Nothing she had heard or done had prepared her for this, this feeling as he hit inside every part of her. He was relentless, nothing like the slow build she had been giving him earlier. He kept hold of her hair, keeping her whole body taut. All she could do was hold onto the arm of the couch, the cushions, and then her own breasts when even that wasn't enough. She needed to hold onto something, anything as he built the tension steadily inside of her, ripping her apart from the inside out. She was going to finish fast this time, she could feel it, still wound up from earlier. She didn't even know how he was still going. Not like this.

It was impossible to be think coherently. She tried to distract herself, listening to what he was muttering to her.

"Goddammit," he was saying now. "Christ, you feel good. C'mon, c'mon," he said as she faltered, losing strength. "I know you've got more. Give it to me, girl. Give it all."

But then he let go of her hip to pull her underwear tight, and it knotted hard against her clit just as he pushed into her again. She bent over, unable to hold herself up at all anymore, all the strength gone from her shaking legs and stomach. She reached back, trying to find purchase on his hip or thigh but quickly giving up, instead just barely catching herself on the end table in front of them in time to stop herself from falling completely.

But he stopped, letting go of her hair and moving a strong arm under her breasts, putting a hand to grip the sides of her throat to yank her up to him so her back was solidly against his chest. She couldn't help him at all, limp in his arms, her head falling back on his shoulder.

"Come to me, girl, to me," he muttered, his face so full of concentration she wasn't even sure he knew what he was saying. He took her wrist and wrapped her arm around the back of his neck. His hand on her throat went instead to her thigh, grabbing underneath to push her leg up and over his bent one so that it hooked loosely around his hip. "Right there. Good girl."

The praise gave her a thrill she didn't quite grasp, but somewhere inside she understood that she wasn't being good. There wasn't anything good about what they were doing. But here, with his whole body towering around her, she could be a good girl for him. Her leg ached from being stretched too far, but she didn't care. She gasped audibly, her teeth clicking as she snapped her mouth shut. He was only just barely inside her, all the jostling nearly dislodging him, but now he pushed into her with no hesitation, sinking so deep her eyes nearly crossed. Her lungs were hardly working, barely even managing to hyperventilate, leaving her light-headed as she sobbed and her stomach sent flutters down between her hips.

She couldn't concentrate, couldn't think, couldn't breathe right. This was the third time she'd had him, but still, she wasn't used to it, wasn't used to the feel of being so wrapped around him, of him adjusting her so she was more situated in his arms, of her body being stretched so much it hurt, the way his hair felt as she pulled it between her fingers. Her eyes had been closed, but now she opened them just to see his face. Mostly she could just see his hair, so long it was wrapping around his ear and touching her cheek, and she pictured suddenly that dumb pink headband again. It was almost funny, and she opened her mouth to smile but gasped again instead when he hit particularly deep, all humor and thought lost.

His hand holding her thigh let go of its grip, and when she felt him again his fingers were at her pubic bone, inching down slowly to where he was pushing inside until he met her clit. It was impossible to hold back the instinct to cringe away from the intensity of what that small motion had made her feel, her whole body trying to collapse in on itself. But his arm around her kept strong, his fingers relentless. His other hand went to the side of her head to turn her face to his, but she couldn't even open her eyes as her thighs shook uncontrollably.

Nothing had ever felt like this. She didn't have words, could only choke on the breath in her throat as she felt her body close around him again and again and again, flashing hot and cold as nothing short of heaven soaked into every crevice of her body. She cried out, the pleasure doubling over when he smacked his hand over her mouth at the middle of her peak and she tasted the salt on his palm as he muffled her.

"Thassright," he muttered, shifting her limp body in his arms, his fingers still working her. She tried to close her thighs, but as soon as they moved he pushed them back, keeping her spread wide open to him.

It wasn't done. She wasn't sure she even had a body anymore, but what she could feel was him still inside of her, hard and persistent. He at least moved slower now, but still he moved, barely pulling out before he drove all the way back inside.

"Wait," she whispered, "wait, just gimme, I can't, I don't," she tried, again and again, and then cried out when it didn't stop and a fresh wave of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain hit her.

"Open your eyes," he said, gripping her jaw tighter, not hard enough to hurt but enough that knew she didn't really have a choice.

She did as he asked, immediately finding the blue of his own already looking down at her, not even blinking as he pushed into her again. It was a moment, that look he was giving her, one she felt lockdown in her memory and she knew she would never forget the way this felt.

But then he looked back down at her body, his fingers strumming her clit again, and there came a new urgency to what he was doing. She felt raw, now, every movement magnified, like turning the volume up on a speaker to the max. It was almost beginning to smart, too much to feel and comprehend as he pushed her body quickly towards its second cliff. A few seconds later, he was back to full speed, absolutely pounding inside of her. She felt her whole body shaking, her legs a quivering mess, and there was a constant sound of broken whimpers and moans coming from her that she had no control over. Soon, though, it changed to a steady plea.

"Pleasepleaseplease, please, please," she was saying to him, finding the strength to sit up a little more just to make sure he didn't stop. She reached her free hand down to where he was playing her clit like someone would play a 6-string, grabbing into his chest with the arm around his neck. She turned her head into his cheek, licking his jaw and biting the shell of his ear, yanking it as her body jumped along with a thrust. "Please," she said to him, low and throaty. She wanted to help him, to tell him, but no other words would come to her lips, her body boneless. She was absolutely desperate, her walls clenching around him in the beginnings of another fall.

"Shut up," he growled, sounding so harsh, but it only made her smile because she knew there was nothing behind it. His hips were starting to falter, losing the steadiness and speed but hitting into her even harder, making her ache. He dropped his hand to one of her bouncing breasts, grabbing onto a nipple. The pain was sharp, bringing her body back into sudden clarity. She gasped into his ear, her whole body raising as she came to another finish, so strong and unexpected and forced that she lifted her body off of him, her whole center of gravity forgotten as she rode out the waves with jutting hips and an unintelligible string of empty words, each one bleeding over into the next.

He finished seconds later, practically snarling into her shoulder, the rumblings of his groan echoing in her ear as he collapsed backwards and took her with him.

For a minute, there was nothing but the blood rushing in her ears, the twitching she still felt between her legs, the slick of sweat all over her body, her lungs grateful to finally take a normal breath. His heat was washing over her, his skin hot where it met hers. She had landed awkwardly next to him, half hanging off the couch with her arm still around his neck. She didn't dare look at him yet, though.

She stared out the window, thinking. The sun had set, leaving only hints of yellow in sky that was turning to black. She took a second to listen carefully, see if she heard any of the dead, but there were only crickets. It was almost normal.

Both times they had done this in the past, for those few minutes when they were one person, nothing else mattered. There weren't walkers outside, they weren't looking for shelter, their families weren't gone. They were two people. But after… there were no distractions. The world came crashing back. She hadn't been able to handle it that first time, and the second time, it was easy to get dressed and then go to sleep. This time, though…

She started tracing a design on his chest with her nail, still not looking at him. "My arm's fallin' asleep," she told him when her shoulder started to tingle.

He lifted his head without saying anything, and she chanced a look at him while she pulled her arm free, but he was only staring at the ceiling. She turned to her side, looking at the clothes strewn on the floor. She probably should've been nervous - odds were against them that this would turn into some kind of meltdown soon - but she only felt comfortable. Comfortable being naked, comfortable with him being naked, comfortable with being wet between her legs as well as everywhere else. Just kind of content.

She sat up, not even bothering hiding anything. There wasn't really any hiding, or any point in pretending she could or even wanted to. He put an arm behind his head, worrying at the cuticle of his thumb with his teeth. When he got like this she didn't like to interrupt, but she wasn't sure what else she was supposed to do.

"We left the whiskey outside," she said absentmindedly as she looked out the window. She suddenly thought of Maggie, wondering what she would say if she could see her little sister now, drinking and sleeping with older men. It was the kind of thing she would've done, back before the world ended.

"Hand me my shirt," he said, pointing to the other side of the couch.

She frowned, reaching over for it, but then smiled, putting the plaid on herself instead. She shot him a smile, putting her hair back into a ponytail.

"Cute," he said, though he sounded like he thought it was anything but. He shifted, pulling his pants back on.

"Can't fool me anymore, you know," she said, smiling at him again. "I know what you really think."

"Doubtful," he answered, still not looking at her.

"You think I'm beautiful," she said more softly, her stomach giving her a pleasant flip as she remembered the way he had said it.

That, at least, caught his attention. He stopped pulling at his thumb, his eyes flicking to her and then back to the ceiling. "Heard that, huh?"

She nodded, still floating. "You can have your shirt back, if you want it."

"Can keep it fer now. If ya want."

She smiled wide, stretching her cheeks. "I do." She put her hand back on his chest, lightly touching his tattoo and the down of his chest hair. "Maybe we could stay here."

He still wasn't looking at her, but he wasn't stopping her from touching him, either. "Might be we could."

She felt safe as she looked around the station. They had lost everything, it was true, more than once now.

But she had found something else in him.

***fans self* sigh. Again, still not calling this a story. Pretty much gonna add smut chapters here whenever I feel like blowing off steam. As always, tell me what you think/if there's anything you want to see. **


	6. Chapter 6

**No smut this time but a little bit of fluff and some aftermath/recovery. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited/followed, or recommended this. It is very much appreciated! Kisses blown to you all. **

**edit: this chapter has been seriously, seriously revised. **

It had been quiet for a while now. Neither of them had moved, except for Beth relaxing back against his hips, stretching out her legs in front of her and crossing them at the ankles. That storm was finally here, rain beginning to tap lightly against wood paneling of the building, clouds blocking the moon in stuttering waves. So there was mostly blackness around them, only interrupted by whatever light from the sky that was breaking through. Giving him nothing but glimpses of her, silvery darkness cast over the tops of her thighs, skin pale and legs endlessly long. Her hand still rest back on his chest, palm hot and damp on his skin. He hadn't stopped her, hadn't encouraged her. Just let them both be for a while, waiting to see what she'd have to say. What she'd make of this space for herself, for both of them.

Half an hour they'd been like this, give or take.

He looked out the window where the rain still fell steady. "Gotta go out. Set up for water." Which was true. It was summer, and the rains weren't as frequent but hit hard when they came, and it was nothing short of reckless to not take advantage.

"I know." But she didn't move. She was staring out the window, her eyes lidded in exhaustion as she swayed a little, leaning her head back. Some hair fell out of her mess of a ponytail, floating delicately down to her shoulder. He watched as she blinked slowly, finally picking up her hand from his chest and putting it on her lap. She started fidgeting her fingers on her knees, heaving a sigh so deep it made her shoulders sag. He looked at her face, trying to judge what he saw, but the most he could get was that she didn't look upset. But he couldn't exactly read a cheek, and this girl managed to keep surprising him, and he didn't want to guess what she was feeling. He wanted to know. He wanted to hear.

"Good?" he asked, and even though he was trying to be quiet his voice sliced through the air with all the subtlety of a car crash.

She glanced at him over her shoulder for just a second before shrugging and looking back out the window. "Yeah. Just thinking," she said, and her voice sounded so soft and sweet in comparison to his bluntness that he didn't want to answer. But he could listen, listen to the little lyrical notes of her, so different from the sounds she'd given him earlier.

"Let's go, then," she said more firmly before he could answer, and pushed off his shoulder to stand.

It had been his suggestion, and they had to go. Just because he'd been inside her didn't mean they stopped needing water. But he felt like there was something happening here, something distinct that he could feel growing dimmer as she took a step away from him. "Still got my shirt."

She didn't even hesitate, shrugging it off her shoulders and letting it fall in his lap, seemingly utterly comfortable as she walked to get her own clothes. He tried not to stare, to follow her lead, putting his clothes back in place and feeling, more than ever, like he was old. Something grumpy and curmudgeonly that felt especially apparent next to her ease. But he got dressed, and so did she, and they went outside with whatever they could find that would catch the water, both of them soaked in a matter of seconds.

"Let's stay," she said when he opened the door to go back in. "Out here. Just for a little."

He hesitated with his hand on the knob. Maybe he should leave her here, and give his head a place to escape to. But before he'd really even considered it, he was nodding, coming back to stand next to her. There was an awning above them, collapsing a little on one side so that water poured off the edge, and a metal railing in front of them that she was leaning against. It was so dark. He thought he knew what that looked like, how the sky looked different away from city lights, but that was nothing compared to this. There was only moonlight dampened by clouds, and little clatters as rain hit the bottles, nearly topping them over as the drops hit the ridges.

Didn't make a whole lot of sense, really, just hoping some drops would hit their mark and they'd have water for another day, but he didn't think he cared. Nothing made much sense, worked the way it was supposed to. If it did, she wouldn't be here with him. He wasn't sure if she'd be here at all, plunged headfirst into water that seemed it was doing its best to keep them both under the surface.

She pushed her hand out from under the cover, watching the drops roll down her wrist, splashing off her upturned hand as she danced graceful fingers in the air. "Used to be scared of you," she said, glancing at him with a quick smile, bringing her hand in and dragging tracks of rain on the railing. "You believe that?"

Yes. That, at least, made sense. Might even make sense that he was a little freaked out by her, burning bright and somewhat calm despite the storm.

"Or not scared, maybe," she mused, crossing her arms against the rail and leaning her weight against it again. "Just seemed so mad at everythin'."

There had been a time like that, he remembered. More than a time - it was years that stretched on that were colored in nothing but red in his brain. Different than now, after he'd seen those other colors and had more than some distant awareness of what he was missing. "Was," he said, drawing her gaze back to him as the sky cascaded around them. "Am."

She shook her head. "Not like you were." And then she smiled. "You changed. You're different now."

"Now?"

"Yeah," she nodded, but didn't look like she was going to explain anymore. She looked out absently at the rain pounding new textures into the ground, thunder cracking closer than before.

"Nothin' else fuckin' has," he said. Wasn't even sure why. She was right, that things were different and he was different, but there was some deep anger that he hadn't even really tried to touch on and was desperately trying to ignore. "Same bullshit."

"Some of the same bullshit," she agreed.

He smiled, and she looked at him and smiled back, hair stuck in dripping curls to her cheeks and temple, shirt hanging wet and heavy off her shoulders to cling to her chest and back. She looked back out, her hand sliding over the rail to link his fingers with hers, squeezing him gently. Innocent and warm, fingers thin between his.

"I think I liked drinkin'," she said, almost too quiet for him to hear over the rain.

"That right?" He was looking out, constantly scanning the perimeter for anything out of place, but he felt weirdly certain that they were alone. A gut feeling about this place with her that the outside world had nothing to do with. "You're lucky you're a happy drunk."

"Yeah, I'm happy." Another squeeze of his hand. "What do you think's out there?"

Death. "Same ole' shit."

She looked down, mouth pulling into somewhat of a frown. "I know they're gone." There was something worse about hearing her say it, like her believing it injected some morbid finality. "But I think that there's still something… I dunno. Something worth finding. We can't just give up. You know? That's what I'm thinking."

He hummed, and she continued. "Don't have to go on an alcohol run every day."

"Might have somethin'," he said, and he actually did. A place he had found alone before that he'd nearly forgotten. Hadn't had anyone to show, anyways, but he thought he might now with her. "A place. Not too far."

She looked at him, kindly surprised. "A place? Where?"

He shrugged. "Could take you."

"Yeah?" She smiled, leaning in a little closer. "What is it?"

He only shrugged again. "You'll see."

She narrowed her eyes, swinging back to her original position. "Alright. Good."

She still seemed a little surprised. He liked that he was able to do that for her.

Among other things.

Thunder cracked, leaving the windows to shake in their frames, and the rain began to fall sideways. She looked around in a little bit of wonderment, then looked at him and said something he couldn't quite hear. He just shook his head, but then the wind changed, and all of a sudden they were getting soaked all over again, the drops sweeping in past the awning and hitting them both. She looked at him shocked like it was his fault or something, turning her face away when the rain got her there, too. He herded her toward the door, trying to shield her as best he could as they stepped inside. He saw she was shivering, and thought vaguely that maybe he was supposed to do something about that. But she was taking care of it herself before he could do a damn thing, stripping off her shirt and putting on a dry one. He didn't follow suit, just shaking out his hair and then moving one of the desks to block the door. She came over to help, but then he was just standing there. Waiting for her to tell him what to do, like he wasn't even sure anymore.

She looked at him when she'd finished draping her wet clothes along the backs of the chairs. "You gonna change?"

He shrugged, sitting back on the couch on the other side from where they'd been earlier, as far as he could get. "Nope."

She almost smiled, and then she shrugged, too. He got the idea that she was teasing, but before he could decide to do anything about it she was gathering her mess of hair back for a ponytail. She winced before she was done, though, and looked at him with her shoulder up to her ear.

"My hair," she said walking towards him. "It got stuck. In the button. You see?"

She sat down in front of him and lifted what she could of her hair so he could see where it had gotten stuck at the top of the keyhole, and he bent a little lower so he could start unwinding the strands. His fingers would brush against her back, and he saw her kind of react a little, peeking over her shoulder at him.

"I should probably cut it," she said.

He was done getting her hair out, but there was a tangle further up near the nape of her neck and he decided to pull at that, too. His fingers looked so big. Clumsy. "Nah."

"Why not?" She must've felt that he had finished with what she'd asked, but she didn't say anything, laughing a little. "Guess you're the wrong person to ask."

He paused, wondering if the truth was something he was allowed to say. "I like it. Your hair."

She didn't say anything for a second. "What did you say that day?" she asked like she was pretending to think. "Like a damn romance novel."

He paused before dropping his hands. "Funny."

"Can be," she said, and then looked over her shoulder a little. The rain on the window pane was casting odd little shadows on her skin, her hair looking almost brown. "You didn't have to stop, Daryl. You can - I like it. When you touch me."

She was getting cold, the little goosebumps prickling up her back. She turned a little more so that he could see the corner of her mouth, too, smiling gently. Encouraging. "Why?" is what came out, which isn't what he meant to say at all.

She took another second to answer, and he was scared that she wasn't going to answer him at all. "Your hands are warm, for one," she said, quietly. "Like. Really warm." She turned completely now, looking up at him and shrugging one shoulder. "And. I dunno. I like being close to people." She rubbed her hands down her shins. "Close to you." And then she turned her head and smiled at him, like it was nothing. "Even after everythin'. Especially after."

So there was that. And even if he hadn't really meant to ask, he was also almost relieved that he had. He didn't know what to say, so instead of fucking it up he chose not to say anything at all, leaning back. She stood up, looking around, wiping her hands on her thigh before putting her hair up like she'd meant to earlier. "I guess it's late."

"You guess?" he asked, watching her as she walked over to where a picture of officers hung on the wall, he guessed of whoever used to work here.

"Yeah," she said, turning around to face him. Not awkward, but quiet, neither of them knowing how to approach the next question.

So he decided not to approach it at all, grabbing his bag and tossing it to the floor next to the couch, taking his crossbow and placing it more carefully to the side of that. He laid down, the backpack his pillow, the door within his sights. "Couch is yours," he said, getting as comfortable as he could. As comfortable as they ever were anymore.

She didn't move from the wall. Like she wasn't impressed. "I could've slept on the floor, Daryl."

He only glanced at her. "S'fine," he said, putting his arm behind his head.

She stepped over him, sitting down on the couch near his head, but then she stood back up, taking one of the pillows and going over to lay down next to him. "I'm on the floor, too."

He rolled out of the way of her efforts, sitting up. "Beth -"

"I can handle it," she said. "This is fair. And I'm taking first watch. You need to be well rested if you're gonna take me to this place tomorrow."

He didn't see that there was much room to argue, or even that he really wanted to. "The fuck is the point of the couch, then?"

She shrugged, smiling. "You can have it, if you want."

Alright. So that was weird. Proving something, maybe, more stuff from what she'd been talking about outside. Some new facet of her that he didn't quite have a grasp on. "Nuh uh. No fuckin' way."

"Alright, then. Go to sleep," she said, voice a little sing songy. A little smug.

He narrowed his eyes. "Fine."

"Fine," she tossed back, raising an eyebrow.

He looked at her a second longer before rolling onto his other side, feeling a little like he'd missed something.

"Daryl?" she asked, and he could hear her moving.

"What?"

But then she was kissing his cheek, and he could feel her smile. "Night."

He didn't answer.

Tomorrow was bound to be an interesting day.

**I thought we could use a little break from the constant banging, but we'll come back to some more soon. **


	7. Chapter 7

**For those of you coming from Work Song: hey. For the rest of you: more smut. I don't have an excuse for writing this but I did and it's here. I don't really foresee anybody having a problem with that, though. **

**edit: this chapter is chaaaaaaanged. **

When Daryl woke up the sun was coming in, having burned away the clouds. It took him a second to orient himself, the ceiling unfamiliar, the wallpaper an ugly, generic beige. He was on the floor, his neck sore from the angle, but then again so was everything. There was a rug covering the hardwood here that had felt nice enough when he'd gone to sleep, but now it felt uncomfortably scratchy wherever it touched him.

But the sun. That was wrong.

And then he remembered: Beth had taken first watch. She was supposed to wake him.

His eyes shot to awareness, looking to his side, half expecting to see her sleeping next to him, but she wasn't there at all. He sat up, adrenaline already pumping, but he only had to look to the windows to find her. She'd pulled up the blinds to get a better view of outside, but now she was looking at him, surprised at his sudden state and mildly amused. "Mornin'."

He nodded. His mouth was dry, and he rubbed his face while he tried to get a rope on all the rush of his panic. "What happened to wakin' me up?" he asked, annoyed. Now that he was awake, his body was protesting louder. He was all fucking kinds of hurting. His hips especially ached something fierce, but he only had to look at her to remember why. He could deal with it. They were no strangers to hurt anymore. There were never any breaks, couldn't toss back a couple advil when your head was hurting. There was just dealing with it. But this. He could deal with this.

"I tried," she said, shrugging, and she looked tired but not necessarily more than usual. "You're normally a light sleeper. So I figured you must've needed it."

He was a light sleeper. He couldn't remember it ever being different. "Should've done it anyways. Can't have you walkin' around with your eyes closed," he said, gesturing at her.

"I'm alright. I don't sleep much anyways." She'd put shoes on already. "When do you want to go?"

"Go where?" he asked, trying to get the energy to stand. He was fucking hungry, too, and so fucking sore, and irritated that he'd been sleeping all night.

She frowned. "You said you had somewhere to take me," she reminded him. "We're pretty good on stuff," she said, going over to the couch and sitting down. "I checked while you were sleeping. We're alright on food." She paused, looking at him, still like he was doing something vaguely funny. "We could probably both get clean, at some point."

He could only grumble, stretching out. These were all good things, and he could recognize them as necessary. But also, they could just lay here. For a while, at least. She could sleep and maybe he could, too.

But he'd told her he would take her somewhere, and he'd even been kind of excited about it. So he could do that, today, and maybe sleeping would come later. For both of them.

She'd leaned back, tracing the edge of the table with the pad of her index finger, kicking up dust as she went. She looked disappointed, almost, and he realized that he'd done that. That she'd been excited about going, that they'd had a plan and he hadn't remembered and that had hurt her, somehow. She stood up, energy down, and watched her pick up one foot to rub at the back of her calf, standing so tall and graceful and moving as slow as the dust that floated in the sun streaked air.

"Fine, but I ain't carryin' ya," he said, and finally made himself get up, ignoring the way everything in him fought to get back down.

She heard him move and looked up, framed by pinky gold, hair messy around the collar. "Good," she said, crossing one leg over the other and swaying as she gave him a satisfied smile. "Then let's do breakfast."

That was something she'd done in the prison, when things had gotten more settled. Not just food whenever they could find it, but a schedule. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Forcing in whatever normalcy she could, a routine just to make a prison feel more like home. "Alright. Breakfast."

So they took care of that, gathering up the bottles from outside after they were done, which didn't even turn out to be useful because not five minutes later while they searched inside the cupboards near the desks she was pulling out a carton of water bottles. Most of them still there, too, and she picked up a couple of them out and smiled like she'd just struck gold.

"We can use these," she said, standing up straight and looking down where he was kneeling, already grabbing some and putting them in his bag.

He stared up at her, missing something. "That's the idea, yeah."

"No, I mean for cleaning. For getting clean."

Oh. Right. That.

"There's a bathroom down the hall," she said, and then took his bag from him, putting it on the desk out of his reach. "We should. Before we go."

He wrinkled his nose, but already he was losing this fight. He felt like he'd missed it entirely. He leaned against the counter space, shrugging. "Thought you were in a hurry."

"This won't take long," she said. "We can go after."

He waved her along. "Knock yourself out."

She gave him a quick grin before she was gone, walking off and turning the corner, a little sway in her hips that'd been completely absent when they were on rockier ground outside.

Or maybe he hadn't noticed. He was noticing all kinds of things lately.

He kicked off the counter when he was alone, making an easy circle around the room, but there wasn't much to look at. Smokey bear on the wall warning him about forest fires, a shelf with brochures. He'd been out here two minutes and he was bored without her.

"So how long is it gonna take to get there?" she asked him, voice echoing down the hallway. "Wherever 'there' is."

"Don't matter if we never fuckin' leave," he grumbled, kicking back on the couch. He'd already torn through everything and there wasn't jack shit to look at. Not even a fucking book.

She didn't answer, which he figured was fair. He let himself slide further down the cushions til his ass was nearly hanging off the edge, eyeing the frame and watching her stretched out shadow as it moved along the floor, the occasional drips and splashes.

It was maybe five more minutes before she spoke again. "You should get cleaned up, too," she said, and then she was in the doorway so she could look at him, smiling a little when she saw how he'd set himself up. She'd left her shorts off, her legs long even from his perch. "It's pretty nice in here." And then, when he still didn't move, she waved him over impatiently. "C'mon. It's your turn."

She disappeared inside again, only her shadow visible. So he stood up, walking over to the bathroom, pausing in the doorway. Two stalls, wallpaper some slightly less ugly variant of the main room, a metal cabinet on the far wall, sinks and a counter, some long dead potted plant in the corner. She'd placed herself sitting next to the sink with her legs swinging, her shorts crumpled near the tap and a little damp in some spot she'd evidently tried to clean. Her shirt was sticking to her where her skin was still damp, the hair on her neck clinging wet "Ain't like no police bathroom I been in before," he said, passing by her and going over to the cabinet to see if there was at least something useful in there. He pulled out one of the baskets, jumbling it around. Band aids, mostly. Another one with pens and kleenex.

A third with a couple of loose condoms scattered amongst what looked like tissues and more band aids.

He shoved that one back on the shelf, pretending like he hadn't seen it at all.

"Nothin' really in there, I checked," she said as she watched him root around. Which meant she'd seen too, probably. "It's not a police station. It's a ranger station. You know, for hikers and stuff?"

"Whatever. Figures," he said, looking at the walls. She was telling the truth: it wasn't too shabby in here, even ignoring the shelf. She'd dumped the water bottle into the sink, closing the plug and using it as a basin. The water had turned murky, the hand towel she'd used dirty and folded neatly to the side. "Shit, wanna do their laundry, too?"

"Quiet," she said, nudging him with an outstretched foot. "We shouldn't leave it worse than we found it."

He looked at her, not really knowing what to make of that. "You done?"

She nodded, her mouth opening in a yawn that pulled exhaustion all over her face. She looked suddenly tired, blinking as she opened the drain to let the water out. "Yeah. I'll just -" she said, and hopped down, looking up at him when she was back on her feet. "I'll wait," she finished, grabbing her shorts and leaving, pulling the door almost shut behind her.

He listened until her footsteps were gone, then pulled the door back open. Just in case. They hadn't done much of anything with closed doors so far. Wasn't too set on starting now. He could be there, if she needed him.

So he set on doing what he was supposed to, refilling the sink, and once he got started it wasn't that bad. The water was alright, and the towel was even kind of soft, and she was right again. It wasn't that bad. He washed his hair in the sink, too, because why the fuck not, and stepped outside when he was done, calling her name.

She didn't answer, and once he'd walked forward it was easy to see why: she was asleep. Laying on her back, her face turned to the sun like she was searching for it, chest moving gently with deep breaths of calm. He stood there, debating on what he was supposed to do. She'd wanted to leave, and he should probably get her up and get them moving. They shouldn't just linger here.

But looking at her, he didn't really want to get moving, and looking at her he thought things seemed kind of alright. She could sleep and they didn't have to go right now and maybe everything was gone but they were alone together and that seemed more important, now.

So he fell in next to her like she'd done the night before, on his back some inches away, her head turned to the window and his turned to her. He couldn't sleep but he could rest, could lay here and smell both of them clean enough for the scent of soap to come through - she was going three for three; he did feel better just not having dirt caked into every crease - and he could listen to her breathing keeping time and the air around him. He could relax.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt relaxed. Not just in his muscles, but in his head. Like there wasn't anything else he needed to be doing. Not even worrying.

It was alright.

When she woke it was afternoon, the sun coming in hot through the windows and baking them both. She stirred gently, nothing like the rude awakening he'd given himself that morning, her mouth opening as her fingers twitched. Her head turned in his direction, and when she opened her eyes he was already looking.

She didn't say anything for a few seconds, seeming to gather herself as she took him in. "Your hair," she said, blinking slowly.

"Yeah?"

She reached out to touch it, smoothing it back from his forehead. "It's wet."

"S'what happens when you wash it," he said, and she was still looking at him like she wasn't really awake enough to put the pieces together and it was kind of cute. There wasn't another word for it, and he didn't see a need to try and find one.

"Oh." She took her hand back, looking outside before looking back at him with an accusing expression. "You were supposed to wake me up."

He shrugged. "You were supposed to wake me up, too, girl."

"Girl," she repeated slowly, looking at him before looking towards the ceiling. "Can we still go?"

"Yeah, if we get a move on," he said, tracing along her profile, watching her eyes as they flicked all over. He looked up, too, but couldn't see what had caught her attention. "Why you wanna go so bad?"

"I'm curious, I guess," she said. "I think it's good to be curious about things."

He chanced another look at her. "I guess."

She reached over, taking his hand where it sat on the floor before sighing, stretching up in a little curve that pulled her back off the floor in an arch and brought both their hands above her head, her breasts pushed out and her shirt raised high. "I'm kinda sore."

Her and him both. He felt something kind of stirring sleepily, and he swallowed, trying to back it down before it started. He let her play with his hand absently when she brought it to a rest on her stomach, running her finger one by one over his. "Could go tomorrow," he offered quietly. "It ain't goin' nowhere."

She glanced at him, surprised. "You? You wanna stay?"

"Didn't say I want to. Just said we could." Her hand running up his wrist now, gentle little scratches more absentminded than anything else, but it felt good. Good like the water, good like her voice, good like watching the new ways she kept moving. He realized, almost suddenly and to his vague surprise, that he wanted her again. Not like the feeling had come back, but like it had never really left, stained all over his memory. He wasn't hard, and his blood wasn't rushing through his ears and erasing his thoughts, but he was thinking about her and all the different ways this weirdly lazy afternoon could go and he just wanted her. Almost as absently as her fingers stroking along his arm.

"Daryl, we're leavin'," she said, but she was smiling. "We're in a hurry, remember?"

"Fine. You get on up and I'll follow," he said, withdrawing his hand from her, but she caught it. She looked around, one leg bending like she was going to get up, but then it was back down, defeated.

"We're leavin'," she said again, but she was still smiling and she still had his hand and he just kind of knew they weren't going anywhere. Not today. He was completely okay with that.

He didn't answer at first, because she was laying there in her underwear with her legs just miles and miles of sinewy muscle, her pointed toes pulling them taut as she stretched again, and there weren't any words. There were just beats of color forming, bright reds pulsing low. "Nah."

She rolled over onto her side, tucking her hands under her cheek and flicking an eyebrow up. "No?"

He shook his head, letting his hand inch across the short distance to touch her arm. "Nuh uh."

She smiled wider, and then she even laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls as it filled the room and his own lungs while her legs pulled herself closer. She reached out her own hand, lips parting as her fingers traced over his chest, her leg falling over his own as she nestled like a kitten into his side. "You remember how I said you'd changed?"

He frowned a little while he looked over at her, letting her explore. So gentle, ghosting little designs on his sternum, her leg hitching up higher on his hips so that his fingers could stroke along her thigh. Easy. Touch for touch.

The weather wasn't settled outside, a gust of wind making the wall creak and the branches outside flutter shadows over them both. She looked behind her to glance out the window, a flash of sun catching her face before she turned back to focus on him. "I meant like this, too," she whispered. "I remember. Back at home, on the farm. You set up way off. Even in the prison you wouldn't sleep where everyone else did," she said, and looked at him while she gathered herself even closer to him, picking up his hand and drawing it behind her neck so that she could put her head on his shoulder. "You didn't even hug me back. You never would've done this."

He paused to think about it, because he honestly just hadn't. Hadn't thought about what was different, only knew that it was. Had thought of plenty of reasons of why he shouldn't like any of it, but he had exactly zero thoughts for why he did. Even now it was fine, and he wasn't panicking or worrying or even thinking about much at all except that her hair felt soft where it brushed on his neck. That her hand felt good as she drew her patterns on him, that he was nicely warm where she laid on top of him, and still those reds painting over everything. He shrugged, not sure what else to say. "Said you liked me touchin' you."

"That's not what I asked," she said, shaking her head, placing little spirals down his stomach. "What changed your mind?"

Another shrug that he couldn't even help, because he really did want to give her something, an answer that wouldn't disappoint. Touching her was easier, yeah, but talking was worse. As if he'd been any good at it to begin with. She'd just look at him, and he didn't think she meant to but she'd shuffle around all the words in his head until he was left with nothing but disjointed thoughts. Especially when it was like this, with nothing else to do and her focus all on him. "Dunno. Just did."

"Maybe I'm different, too." He didn't know if she could sense that there really wasn't more to get out of him or if she was just tired of two word answers, but she didn't follow up with anything else and still the exploration continued. Up her thigh and back, tracing along the edge of her underwear and then with his hand behind her her back, little bumps of her spine, and she was relaxing into him and he was relaxing back and he didn't know what this was but he had enough sense to know he didn't want it to stop.

His fingertips traced lightly over her hip and then up her side, ghosting and practically not there at all, but then she stiffened before she squirmed away, her stomach sucking in while she danced to avoid his fingers. He gave her a general "what the fuck" look, and she turned onto her back before sighing.

"I'm ticklish," she said, like she was trying to be casual, but she was definitely not looking at him anymore and this was already kind of interesting.

"Ticklish?" he asked, and she was still laying on his arm so it was easy to bend his elbow and bring her back to his side. "Ain't seemed ticklish."

Still not looking at him, crossing her arms, mouth teasing around a grin. "You want proof or somethin'?"

She had to know it was coming, her whole body shrinking away before he was on her and his hands were on her ribs and he was straight up tickling her, making her legs kick up defensively and her lungs emptying into a shriek before she was laughing again, trying uselessly to push him off.

"Stop stop stop, I _hate _this, I hate _you_," she cried, trying uselessly to grab at his fingers before her hands turned to fists to push up hard against his chest as his arm around her kept her to him. He could stop her. He didn't even think it would be hard, because even though she had nearly knocked him off his feet in the yard he was at a serious advantage here. He could pin her hands down in his and make her squirm some more and as soon as that thought crossed his mind he was doing it, both her hands above her head, and when he eased down and kissed her she was still smiling.

He didn't really ever want her to stop.

But she wasn't laughing anymore, her legs making their way around him as he released her hands and kissed her just as lazily as he'd touched her, tasting her mouth and then her newly cleaned neck as her hands flattened on his chest to caress him down his stomach. She was still breathless, and he felt her her lungs working hard against him, her head tipping back over his arm when he finally reached the base of her neck, hips pivoting gently up into his as his hand skated more smoothly up her ribs. It was the easiest thing. Easy to touch her. Easy to place her just right. Easy to put up his hand to the side of her neck and easier to kiss her, her body rocking up to meet him, her fingers grabbing onto his hips.

She broke away, head falling lax against his arm as she looked at him with lidded eyes, an eyebrow crooked up again as her mouth curved into a self satisfied smile before falling open. Even for being in the sun, her skin felt hot to his hands as he pulled her shirt up, her shoulders lifting to get it off her.

Half of him was back in that tent, with the moon shining off her hair and her skin with her arms wrapped around him. The similarities weren't lost on him, but this time she was painted in gold and the sun caught her eyes as she moved her hand on top of his, encouraging it along her until his palm was on her breast. She took a breath, moving almost imperceptibly beneath him, still looking at him with her hair a mess and there was almost a smile as he ducked back down to her neck.

He moved slowly, tasting the spot below her jaw and the long dip down her throat, the little falls of her collarbone and then there were her tits waiting and his mouth between them. Unhurried and easy all along the underswell, her hip bones pulling against her skin and her pants falling a little looser as her next break sucked her stomach into her spine. He used that extra room, getting his fingers into her jeans and he felt her watching as he shimmied them down her hips, her legs straightening out so she could kick them off. He pulled his arm free from behind her head so he could sink along with them, because her tits were soft but so was the rest of her, mouthing over marks long healed on her stomach as one of her hands made its way to the back of his head. He grabbed her underwear and then those were gone, too, his nose skimming her thighs as he pulled them off her, and he'd never done this before. Never undressed anyone like this, like he could take his time and like all he wanted to see was more, and she was so pretty that it actually kind of fucking hurt to look.

He didn't think he'd realized that before. How new this was. He was so close, her legs still closed but there were little blonde curls and a sliver of pink hinting out between her lips, and, really, considering everything, it was weird how unfamiliar this was. He glanced up at her and immediately wished he hadn't; looking up at her was a hell of a different view, and she was looking down at him, not nervous but clearly a little anxious, biting at her lip with her hands hovering unsure near his head, and he took a little comfort in that. A kiss on her leg and then his tongue, too, just to see, but then she was pulling him to her so his face was against the apex of her thighs, his forehead pressed at the bottom of her stomach. He smiled, letting another kiss fall at the top of that patch of curls, but then he was back up to her, his shadow nearly covering her as her face came back into his view. Her hands were ready for him and so was her mouth and her tongue and her tits for his fingers, and soon enough his shirt was off and then so was everything else, everything getting kicked to a pile at their feet.

He was hard against her stomach, her hands teasing around his stomach and her legs folding around him so she could grind herself up against his thigh in little tracks that were leaving his skin wet and her breath peaking into shrill little noises in his ear. He reached down, squeezing at the insides of her thigh before he gave that up and just cupped her before she could work herself on him any further.

Single minded now, leaving precome smeared on her hip when he rutted into her like she was doing on his hand. This was everything. He didn't feel the bite of the carpet on his knees, the way she made him ache all over her skin, little needles of her nails on his side. He wanted her, and this. He wanted it so damn bad that he didn't even know what to do with himself, the whole feeling pervasive and foreign and itching through his fingers. "Beth," he said, just her name because for a second that's all there is, rubbing up along her until he could find her clit and make her jump. "I want you. I can't -" he said, but then her hand was on him giving his whole length a firm tug, and he was going to dissolve into her hands without a damn thing he could do to stop it.

"Wait," she said, and there was a hand at his cheek turning him into her, pressing her forehead against his. "Don't be weird or anythin' but I -" his hand was still smoothing along her, rubbing her in time with her fingers playing with him lightly, and she kissed him again with her mouth weak with whimpers for him. She pulled off again, reaching into his hair not to pull but to stroke, brushing the strands that had been falling into her face behind his ear before she was reaching back behind her. "My shorts," she said, and when she couldn't reach them he did it for her, his hand passing hers easily to grab them from off the table. She took them from him, giving him a break while she fiddled around checking the pockets until she pulled out what she was looking for.

A condom. So she had seen, and she'd taken one. Which struck him as kind of funny. "The fuck, girl?"

She turned pink, hitting his chest. "I told you not to be weird. I found them in there and I just thought -" She actually seemed flustered. Which was pretty nice, for once, not being the one trying to explain and just failing utterly and making things worse in the process. "Well I wasn't wrong, was I?"

He snorted, and she pushed against him again but his attention was already elsewhere, shoving his hand back down between her legs straight to her clit just to watch her face screw up all tight, the condom dropping from her fingers to her chest. She nodded her head before throwing it back and closing her eyes, and when he looked back down she was pressing her hips towards him. Back and forth slowly over her, watching and hearing her get wetter, seeing her legs try to spread for him, her hips almost twisting away so that he had to hold her down with a flat hand on her stomach. He listened to her breathing change, a throaty quality pulsing into the unsteady motion of her lungs.

She was so reactive, little ripples all over like dipping his fingers into water, and there were so many places to touch her. But there was this. Just looking. Watching her hips thrust towards him, the desperate bowing of her thighs that got her more open for him, the frantic snap of her hips as he traced her in circles. He dipped back towards her entrance only to retreat again, taking the condom before it could slide off her shoulders, tearing it open with his teeth.

Years. Straight up fucking years since he'd put one of these on, but he took it out and rolled a little off her to slide it in place and then letting his hand find her again, the heat radiating off of her and out of her addicting. Her legs fell lax, her feet finding the floor so she could chase his fingers, her hand reaching back down for him, opening her eyes when she felt the condom already there.

And then she was grabbing hold of him anyways, almost too hard, shifting her hips and sliding him along herself until she found where he could press easily inside, and they both made the same noise at opposite octaves when he didn't have anymore of himself to give her. There were a few seconds that he allowed, feeling her stretch so easily around him and letting her feel the same, her hips sliding just right, and then he was gone, touching two fingers along her thigh so that she'd open even more. He didn't want to fuck her fast, not this time, and when he pressed back into her it was slow so they could both feel it. He wanted her to feel it. Make them both sore all over again, and he started a flow that had her taking him so deep that his pelvis went almost flat against her every time he slid home. His mouth was busy touching every square inch of her breasts and he found a mark on them that he thought he might've left behind, and he didn't even know from when it was but he went back over it to renew the sting and make it last with one of those bites that made everything in her tighten. Kisses down her neck, down her shoulder, and he wanted to taste her fucking everywhere, wanted to see where she was saltiest and where her skin was smoothest, her body drawing him in and keeping him there.

He bit more gently at the tendon in her shoulder that stood taut as her arm strained with its grip on the edge of the rug. She pulled at it even harder, pushing her hips up into him until her heels slid along the carpet under the pressure, making her land back to the floor with a quiet thud. She whined in frustration, wrapping her legs around him, her heels egging him on.

And he could give her that, if he was so inclined, could follow the push of her legs. But, really, he could also not, and he was seeing the options all over again. He liked that. No, he fucking loved that, fucking loved her body under him, newfound appreciation and praise and mercy riddling into his thoughts as he licked her neck and mouthed his teeth at her her jaw.

He heard her gasp as he bottomed out, nails making little scratching sounds as she found the hardwood floor while she grasped wildly for nothing. He didn't move except to press whatever millimeters into her that he could, forcing her to feel him as much as he was feeling her. Every second inside her made it worse for them both, edging higher and higher towards nothing, and he gave himself a few seconds reprieve to listen to her unintelligible little murmurings before pulling out to surge back inside her just as deep as before, hard enough that her whole body slid back away from him on the floor. Not fast, no, but powerful, power in his hips, in his muscles and in his limbs, power in making her legs twitch in a little spasm, power in her saying his name like she was begging for something. Which she was, begging for him, begging for more of what he was doing to her, and that just fucking _did_ something for him.

But the sliding on the carpet. That was actually an issue he was going to have to fix. So he adjusted himself so that he was more over her, putting his elbows on the floor right above either of her shoulders so his hands could slick her hair out of her face, his forearms framing the sides of her head. He felt like he was towering over her, just a complete eclipse, so small and soft and smooth underneath him, and that just made him harder, his cock jumping so that he had no choice but to fuck into her again.

And there she was, grabbing at him and whispering and sweating, and he felt a little ripple of pride. Pleasure. Actual physical pleasure, and his hips actually rutted with the suddenness of the intensity so that he lost his beat, and right as she whimpered he growled, an angry noise that he accompanied with a slick thrust back inside. He put his whole body into it, his spine straightening and pushing himself inches taller as he watched her face from his new vantage point, listened to the wet sound of her spreading and sucking him in with a tightness and warmth that was past familiar to him. She was biting her lip hard enough that her teeth were leaving dents, taking such deep draws of breath that he could see her ribs on every exhale, and he groaned as another shock ripped through him, because there wasn't a doubt in his mind that he was good at this. Good with her. That making her drench his skin and twitch and heave for air was suiting him just fine. And, again, it was different. Good different. Perfect different. Just as perfect as the last. It was so good. His knees were aching, his back was sore, his arms were tense, and it was so fucking good.

She came back to herself a little, her hands grabbing his elbows while she wiggled her hips a little deviously, her thighs stroking along his sides. Harder, this time. Slow, but he knew he was strong and he knew she could feel it, him driving into her hard enough for her whole body to push against his arms at her shoulders. This time, when he withdrew his hips, she was right where she had been before, so open and hot and ready to pull him back in. His strokes picked up faster, as fast as he could manage without losing any depth inside of her, her shoulders crashing into the barrier of his arms. Waves against a wall, over and over, pulling and receding only to roar again. She'd been grabbing at the carpet but now she was pulling at the undersides of her knees, bringing her legs up so her knees were almost to her chest, practically bent in half. When he pushed home again, he felt that dragging sensation, so wet that it was almost too slick to tell. But she jerked, her whole body clenching inwards as she winced and pushed out a breath that ended in a helpless noise. She pulled her head up as best as she could, and then she was watching him fuck her, her breaths broken and shallow.

She left her knees so that they splayed out, legs bouncing with everything else, grabbing for his shoulders and the back of his neck to pull him down to her, her forehead pressed to his, and his already unsteady hips faltered as he pushed so deep he could feel himself being branded from the inside out. He reached between them, feeling with one hand along her stomach, trying to think. Trying to guess where he'd felt himself push on her, where his cock had dragged that reaction out of her. A little below her belly button didn't give him anything on his next stroke, so he tried again, pushing the heel of his palm down above her pubic bone, and yes. That was it. She tried to squirm away, but his arm above her had her trapped, her legs kicking out along the floor and her whole body seizing as her hand clawed at his.

"Too much, too much, I don't -" she said, and he only got one more thrust in before she was pulling his hand off, breathing in deep when she was free. She closed her eyes, holding his hand, readjusting herself. "I don't want -"

She didn't finish, just mouthing the words, and he leaned in closer, smiling at what he'd learned and how boneless he'd made her. "Don't want what?"

"Dunno. You know," she tried, but he was still fucking her and she couldn't even speak and that was pretty much the most amazing thing that had happened to him since the last time he'd done this. "Don't want it to be over. Not yet."

He held himself just outside of her, his head dropping to her shoulder. She didn't want to come yet. She wanted him to keep fucking her. He could do that. She let her hands fall to his back, shuddering as he chose that moment to push back into her, both of their breaths catching. He stroked into her again, hearing the way her breath changed, her hand falling limp on his ribs. She clenched around him, her breathing and muscles picking up along with his rhythm, and soon he had forgotten everything, his arms shaking with the effort of holding himself up. He mouthed more of those words she liked to hear against her jaw, how good she felt and how badly she was making him want to come, his teeth catching on her skin.

She hummed her approval, and it slowly turned into a little sigh as she pushed her hands up behind his neck, hooking them there. She pulled herself up so that he slid out of her, the whole of her chest meeting his, and bit at his lip before kissing him with a loose, frail smile. He didn't know what she was doing but he didn't think he would care, letting her hand skim its way down his sternum and stomach until she was at his pelvis, placing light, torturous scratches of her nails through the hair there. She itched down closer to his cock, and didn't stop until he was jerking his hips desperately towards her touch.

"C'mon," he sobbed, the tables turned. "What're you - Beth - ?" he asked, lurching as much as his hips. He dropped his head to her collarbone, kissing the salty dew that had gathered between her breasts when she finally wrapped her hand around him.

"I wanna try something. Like before," she whispered, and he didn't know what she was talking about but he also couldn't think of any of the words necessary to ask as she passed her hand up his shaft before letting him go to place her palm flat on his lower stomach. She pushed there gently, and he followed her lead, his arms pushing himself up until she seemed satisfied. Not even a second later, she was taking advantage of that space, using it to turn easily onto her stomach. She looked back over her shoulder with a pleased expression, wiggling her ass back to meet him.

There were pink little marks on her shoulders where she'd fallen against the carpet, the same ones he imagined were on his knees and elbows. He allowed himself to fall back on top of her to cover them, blanketing himself over her, every line of her bones felt easily against his chest. He caught a face full of hair at the nape of her neck, and pushed through it until he could plant his mouth there. "Warn me next time, girl," he groaned, and snaked his arms between her and the floor, letting one of his hands palm her breast.

"It worked, didn't it?" she asked throatily, her body undulating in small, gentle waves beneath him.

His lips found the knob of her spine, and he kissed her there, too, squeezing her breast and pushing his hand down her stomach, feeling the ridges of her ribs and hip bones until he was at the top of her thighs. She was breathing fast again already, her legs spreading what small amount they could between his, his cock fitting against the crack of her ass. "You tell me," he told her, hand moving from her thigh to the side of her hip around to her ass where he gave a sharp squeeze that elicited a surprised "hmph" sound from her.

He only had to move a couple more inches to find her cunt with his hand, and he held her there, letting his fingers spread her and feeling her rut into him, her forehead bumping against the floor as her head fell and her shoulder blades jutted into his chest. He rubbed her like that, and just because he could he didn't even touch her clit, gathering more and more wetness until her hips were twisting away and her hair stuck to the sweat on her back, his own cock forgotten. When he felt like even he'd had enough, he pushed two fingers into her heat until he was knuckle deep. She stiffened, her back going straight before she freaked out a little, her toes trying to find traction to push away while she pressed dry whimpers into the carpet. She was too good, and the noises she was making were too much, and he just couldn't relent, didn't even cut her a break, turning his wrist to fuck her on his hand. She was so wet, his fingers working her squelching and audible even over her muffled noises. His whole palm was wet with her, and he was a fucking jackass but she was beautiful and he loved giving this to her.

"Thassit, thassit," he slurred, feeling almost drunk off of her. His arm was starting to ache and so was his cock still pressed against her wiggling ass but it was alright because from his position at her neck he could hear what she was saying, the words that came out between the mindless whimpers, and more often than not it was his name. His name off her lips, his hands on her, and it was going to be him that made her fall apart. "Christ, Beth. Fucking Christ."

He couldn't see her face but he felt when she was about to come, the sudden silence and stillness, the tight rotations of her hips, and if he was going to be a jackass he might as well go all the way so he pulled his hand out of her, leaving her to sag from the onslaught. She was too spent to even complain about the denial, her hips still bouncing in little aftershocks of _almost_, and he was almost as breathless as she was. He was still over her, wrapped around her like a blanket, and he kissed the curve of her shoulder with what little strength he could muster to try and soothe her, using his soaked fingers to draw the same shapes she'd drawn on his chest before. "Feel that?" he asked, and she nodded her eyes closed, humming.

But then they opened wide, and she raised her hips in a search for relief. She turned her head so her cheek was against the floor, lines of effort appearing in her raised brow. "That wasn't fair."

He smiled. "Thought you said you didn't wanna come yet," he said, and it was at least fifty percent bullshit because his hips were pressing evenly against her looking for friction of their own and he had less than no control over the situation, but she opened her mouth indignantly and this was just kind of fun. "Didn't know you was so impatient for it."

But even if he was a jerk he wasn't that mean, so he reached under her for his cock and held himself steady as he finally got inside of her again, squeezing her breast to keep from coming just from the feel of her tight heat welcoming him in once again. Her feet kicked out in an involuntary twitch once he went deep, all her nerves a live wire ready to react. This wasn't going to be long for either of them, which was probably for the best, because even if he wanted to he didn't think he could fuck her in any way other than hard and thoroughly.

It didn't take long to set a new rhythm. She made it so easy, egging him on with her words and her hips pushing up to meet him, her muscles squeezing him every time he was inside. He got her nipple between his fingers and squeezed, watching her face as she shoved it to the side to open her mouth in an expression that was stuck somewhere between shock and pain. He got up into her ear again, let his teeth skim at the shell of it. "You gonna come like this?" he asked, and he didn't even know what he was saying, shit just falling out his mouth.

He dropped her hip so that he could get a hand in her hair again, and he none too gently pulled her head up towards him so that she was arched and taut and her cunt went so tight that he didn't even know if he was going to be able to make it back in. He pushed her leg further apart with his own, and it had to be hurting her but he didn't care because his cock was fucking pulsing inside of her.

He hadn't even finished before she was there before him, her pale face overcome with pink and her mouth grasping for words. he could practically see the waves of her pleasure as they made their way from where he sat inside her, rippling in smooth undulations up the muscles of her stomach and breasts all the way to her face that she had pointed up towards the sun. Her hips circled and jerked with it, her whole body free, her arms falling limp by her side as she rode it out, only contained by his hold all over her, and her cunt was clenching to milk him dry and everything about her was perfect.

It wasn't but five seconds later that he couldn't stand it anymore, white hot flashes all over his skin, and then just whiteness, taking over his vision and overshadowing everything as he felt her literally pull his finish out of him. He braced his hand on her hips, his fingertips digging in harder than he had control to stop as he emptied himself inside her, and even with a condom there was something about that that made it better.

And then quiet, besides the ringing in his ears and their breathing that matched in its desperation for oxygen. He rested back on his heels, his eyes still closed, as he felt himself begin to go soft inside of her. It took him a couple seconds to open his eyes and survey the damage: Beth beneath him, looking almost broken, her eyes closed and her skin wet with sweat from them both, aftershocks more akin to tidal waves making her arm twitch out.

He allowed himself a few seconds before he pulled himself out of her, rolling to her side and taking the condom off, tossing it somewhere near the vicinity where he thought he might've remembered there being a trash can. He would check later. Still drunk with her, thoughts sated and senses dull, all of him spent and drained. He was fucking bare assed naked, his cock and fuck it, his pelvis and his thighs all wet from her, the air turning cool on his damp skin, but he didn't give a shit. Was too tired to give a shit about anything right now.

She propped herself up on her elbows before shifting over to him, crossing her leg over his so that their limbs alternated, her cunt settling on his thigh. She put her head against his neck, reaching her arm over his chest, and just like that they were back in the same position they'd been in this morning. Again, she was warm on top of him, giving a little protection from the air, and, again, he didn't really feel like there was a need to stop it from happening.

He thought back to what she'd asked him before, about touching her and what had changed, and he thought that touching her again might should've given him an idea of an answer, but he was coming up empty. None of this made sense. Nothing should've been like it was.

She slid a finger along his jaw to tilt his face back up, pulling his thoughts and attention to her above him. "Where'd you go?" she asked quietly, stroking his cheek with the tips of her fingers.

He caught her hand in his, holding it to his mouth. She smelled like sex. "M'fine. Just thinkin'."

She settled into his chest, her chin resting on his sternum. "Yeah? Thinkin' about what?"

"Just thinkin'," he repeated, staring back at the ceiling before his eyes drifted close. He was waiting for the inevitable follow up, but she seemed as spent as he was.

"We're leavin' tomorrow," she said, almost chastising. "No arguin'."

He almost laughed, the feeling of it pooling in his chest before he just breathed it out. "Tomorrow."

Yeah. They could leave tomorrow.

**what is this place? we'll never know (jk by the time you read this the next chapter will probably be up). **


	8. Chapter 8

**hello hello hello it has certainly been a while, but Bethyl smut week was a little while ago and I wasn't about to just let that pass without contributing. Not advertising or tagging it as such, but that's why this is happening. **

**I'm going to stay the fuck away from that church but you'll see some elements of it here. Also, spoiler alert: I'm not really planning on a huge herd of zombies coming in and ruining absolutely everything, which might require a little suspension of disbelief but I honestly don't really care. I hope you don't either.**

**to keep you in the know: this chapter as well as the rest of the story have been edited. I would suggest going back and rereading but it's your call**

It was a hotel.

Or, had been. Was going to be, was his best guess. Some old place with the bones left behind that was, apparently, in the process of being fixed up and renovated when things had gone bad. A little tucked away, the kind of place you could only get glimpses of through the trees and a long gravel drive with a gate so there was time to take the place in in all its glory as it revealed itself. The kind of place he wouldn't have stayed at. Would've been kicked out before he'd even make it through the doors.

But things were different, now, and he could go where he wanted and it'd just been a simple climb over the fence for him to find this place so long ago, and he'd taken some time here when he had. Nothing of much use, no booze, no food, nothing but mostly empty rooms. But there were some things here that were nice, too, and even if it hadn't been worth showing anybody before he knew he was right that it was the kind of place she'd like to see now.

It had ended up taken them a day longer to get here than it should've. Things seemed a lot slower, now, and walking from one place to another wasn't as straightforward anymore when he wasn't as stubbornly set on not allowing himself to even have the chance of being distracted by her.

But now they were here, and he watched her as they walked up that driveway, watched her take it in and look around and try to understand exactly where they were. It was southern and old and tall, reeking of the kind of old money you'd only find in North Georgia, two floors that turned to three in the middle but white columns that stretched up to all of them all along the front, a room towards the back that peaked out above the rest, a wide balcony front and center. Mansion house on steroids. There were still the construction and delivery trucks in the front, circled around a granite fountain. Whatever company had fixed it up hadn't gotten to the front of the building, yet, the wood old and visibly rotting and in a real need of some new paint. Cracked with brown and looking nearly haunted, grass growing tall around the stairs, vines creeping their way up the front of the empty windows.

"What is it?" she asked, not looking away, moving towards the stairs after she'd looked at him for some kind of permission first.

"Hotel. Inn. Somethin'," he said. There was a chain with a sign warning them off trespassing and another that said they should be wearing hardhats, and he lifted that so she could duck underneath it, following behind her. There was a porch, but nothing on it, and she didn't pay it much attention before trying for the double doors. One was locked, but the other swung open easily, and he followed her in and watched as the whole place seemed to expand beyond the limits it'd presented outside. It'd looked big, sure, but here from the doorway it stretched back a ways, the ceilings tall and the staircase hugging the left wall and it looked almost huge. No doors at all, the whole space open with the foyer flowing into the rooms at either of their sides, a long hallway that reached back to more doors in the back, almost completely empty except for random shit like tarps and paint and brushes and planks of wood all stacked in the corner. The floors were solid hardwood, dark and warm brown, and the wallpaper stripped to show drywall behind it. Old, but sturdy, strong and sound under his feet and hers as she made her way slowly inside.

There was a window above the doors that didn't have any covering at all, the glass new and clear and letting the sun shine into the reflection it made on the floor. She stepped into that and then just stopped, hair like the sun as she looked around. "It's quiet," she whispered. She moved to the stairs but he touched her back before she could, shaking his head.

"Still old. Dunno how much damage is up there." Probably alright, but there were other things to look at before he sent them both crashing through some rotted floor.

She nodded, looking back at him before a flash of light made her look straight up. They'd kept the original chandelier, large and ornate with dangling crystals that threw tiny pieces of rainbow all over the front wall and the floor, and she smiled in wonder as she turned in a circle and touched his elbow.

"Ain't much to see," he said, and he wasn't lying. As far as he had seen, all but one of the rooms that made up the downstairs was full of exactly nothing. "Not here."

"Where, then?" she asked, still looking up, pausing a second to look out the windows that lined the door before peaking into the room next to the stairs. "If there wasn't much to see you wouldn't've brought me here," she said, and even though she was already searching he wasn't going to clue her in on for what, because she was right. There was some stuff to see.

But he held his tongue, nodding his chin down the hall and trailing behind as she followed his direction. He'd meant for her to go stick to the right, but instead she hanged a left to go down another little tiled hall that opened up into a much broader space. She'd found a sunroom, a space carved out for a pool in the middle, or at least what would've been one eventually. Painted blue and flaking, concrete discolored, pool chairs all stacked haphazardly. None of the windows had been put in place here, the plastic covering some of them blown off so they littered the floor along with a couple seasons worth of leaves covering the floor, and the trees outside had grown so that their branches were coming inside.

"This is so…" she started, walking up to the pool's edge and looking down as if there was water in it. "Weird. It's so empty."

He nodded slowly. "Lots of things empty now."

She shook her head. "No, I know, but not like this. This is different." Kicking some more leaves into the pool, the blue bright enough to reflect back on her skin. "It was empty before, you know? Nobody made it this way, nobody forced people out, no screamin', no cryin'. It's not dead here. It's just… empty. Most of the places we've been aren't like that."

He nodded, because he knew that when he walked in but hearing her say it made it more valid, somehow. He leaned back against the wall and watched her explore like he had, wandering over to look out one of the windows as a breeze came in just to blow her hair. She took a deep breath of air that smelled clean and clear, touching one of the intruding branches to examine it.

But there was more she'd want to see and he was actually getting kind of impatient, so he walked to her and touched the back of her hand to draw her attention back. But instead of just following him she took it, twining her fingers with his and walking them both along the edge of the pool until they were back down that hallway and she was facing where he'd wanted her to go in the first place.

He couldn't blame her for missing it at first. There was no indication that there was anything here other than a room just like the rest, but she'd finally noticed and had seen what was inside and moved a little faster, steps echoing as she pulled him along only to stand still as soon as they got to the entrance.

It was some kind of dining room, was the best he could figure. A restaurant that would've had some kind of dress code. Larger than the pool room, and taller, too, the floor towards the back raised up in a stage. Big and open, cavernous enough that the space must've beat up into the second floor, ceiling made of arches that cut and crossed to steeple into each other, white trimmed with gold at the edges coming down to form more arched spaces in the wall for windows so tall they touched the ceiling, and every single one of them was made of stained glass. The light wasn't right, not yet, but he'd sat in here when the sun was near setting and seen the way it would flood the floors. There'd been painter's tape covering them when he'd come here that first time, but he'd torn off what he could reach so now the effect was all here. No real pattern that he could see, mostly white to let the light come in uninterrupted, but there were fragmented strains of color along the bottoms and top, purples and reds and golds and pinks all coming in warm to paint the floor and the walls and the very air.

There were cushionless chairs lined up along the wall, even some round tables, the floor the same dark wood. And, towards the back, sitting near the stairs of the stage like they hadn't had time to actually put it in place, there was a piano. Not a sissy one, either, but a real fucking piano with cool black gloss and curving legs like he'd only really seen in pictures. Even with the lid closed, it was too fancy and nice to just casually exist.

He'd expected her to look at the windows, but she beelined towards the piano, instead, looking back at him and grinning wide and excited, a little skip in her steps. He followed after her more cautiously, watching as she reached it and pushed back the wood covering the keys with a permeating thud before walking more slowly around the circumference of it, tracing along the curves of the sides.

"It's beautiful," she said, and finally she looked around the whole room, the ceiling in the light and the windows and just the lines of it all. "Was this a church? I've never seen windows like that outside of a church."

He shrugged, letting her make of it what she wanted to, and she walked over to the windows to see them better, reaching out to trace them like she had the piano. "One year in school we had to do Georgia history. Talked about the buildings and the homes and how they were all built. You know there are all kinds of stained glass?" she asked him, stepping back towards the center and soaking it in like he had. But then her focus was back on the piano, standing back in front of it and facing the room, bending a little to place her fingers purposefully. Not playing anything, but she looked at ease enough for him to know that she was at least comfortable with it.

"You play?" He probably should've assumed. He thought he could remember a piano at the farm, maybe, but he hadn't actually known she played it. Hadn't really known her at all then, nameless and almost faceless.

Shit really had changed.

"You didn't know?" she asked, surprised. "I thought that's what you wanted to show me."

He shook his head, and she shrugged before answering his question.

"Nothin' like this," she said, wiping the surface clean with swipes of her hand to reveal the pristine black gloss underneath. "Well. Not for a while. We had a piano at home that I'd practice on but it was old. My great grandmother's or somethin'." She was writing something in the dust that was remaining, and he walked over next to her to see. It was her name, looping scrawls, and she smiled at him before padding his name down below hers. "I did a concert when I was younger with the other kids who'd done lessons. A recital. But I was like… ten."

She ducked down looking for a bench but there wasn't one, and he went to the side to give her some space. "It's weird," she said, just staring down at the keys. "I had a feelin' - I hoped that I'd get to play again sometime. I thought maybe if we were there for long enough I might be able to ask for somethin' like this." Running her fingers along them, one by one, still not pressing any down. He leaned over, bracing his weight on the surface as he watched her. "Thought I could teach the kids. Give 'em somethin' nice."

And she was happy, but she was also sad, her voice catching a little, and he didn't want that. Not here.

So he walked across the room, gesturing for her to stay behind, going back out of that room and into one with the pool, picking up a lounger from where they'd been thrown and carrying it over to where she stood waiting and watching curiously, setting it down as makeshift bench so she'd have something to sit on.

No tears anymore, just a quiet "thank you" filled with pleasure and a touch on his chest as she pulled it out to sit on it. It wasn't perfect, too low to be of much good, but he'd given her the best he could and he didn't think she'd care.

"Wait," he said, remembering. There was more. "Got somethin' else 'fore you get this goin'."

"What is it?" she asked, eager, already standing, grabbing his hand to help pull herself to her feet, but he didn't answer, leading them back down that long hallway, past more empty rooms and light and dust until they were at the door and back outside.

He hadn't realized how quiet it was in there until he got back here, the birds and rustles and wind, everything seemingly amplified, and he was eager to get back inside. But first there was the delivery truck, tires sinking into the ground from where the rain had made the dirt into mud, but the back wasn't locked and with a little effort he was able to open it again.

It was mattresses, what looked like a whole shipment of them. He'd found it before, but the truck was already dead and he didn't know how feasible it was to bring in a shitload of mattresses to a place full of cells barely big enough to fit a cot anyways, so he hadn't really done much about it. Closed the door and moved on. But here, and now, they could take one. Move into that room with the piano and the gold and the colors. Probably stay there a while.

"Oh, my god," she said, and before the door was really all the way open she was pulling herself inside, lurching up into the small space available. She smiled down at him triumphantly. "We get a bed?"

He nodded, smiling slowly as she turned and felt over all of them like she'd felt over the piano keys. "Yeah."

"The prison beds were better than the ground but…" she said, trailing off as she tugged at one in particular, pulling at the plastic covering. "Daryl, this is amazin'."

"It's alright," he said, but he believed her. He'd done some good here, had been right that he had something worth showing her.

She pursed her lips like she was choosing, and then laid her hand on one in the middle. "This one."

He nodded, and he hopped up there, too, and then there was the whole fucking ordeal of actually getting the damn thing inside. She was strong but he was doing most of the heavy lifting here, and pretty damn fast what had seemed like a relatively short walk became a mess of his arms aching as he tried to keep it balanced so it could slide up the stairs and over the floors as she laughed at the futility of it all and made attempts to guide him. But he got it inside and even in that room and finally let it collapse on the floor a few feet from the piano where he knew she'd want to be. She used her knife to cut the plastic off, tearing it free just enough so that it wouldn't interrupt them, and they both collapsed onto it, him with a groan as the tension rolled off his arms and his eyes fell shut.

He honestly might've been just calling it a night right there, but he'd only just gotten comfortable when he felt her getting herself up. He opened his eyes reluctantly, arching his neck back to get an upside down view of her going back to that piano and sitting down.

She looked back at him, turning her head sideways so she was more right in his vision. "Come and sit with me," she said, making room and patting the spot next to her.

He shook his head, his fingers stilling where they'd been pulling at a thread on his shirt. "I'm good."

She turned around, leg bending back onto the seat so she could turn and stare at him. "Good doin' what?"

He shrugged, already sensing the direction this was going, wondering how long he could wait and how many times he could get her to ask him. "Layin' here." Watching her, too, but that sounded worse and he decided to keep that thought from slipping out loud.

"You can lay there later, c'mon," she said, and turned back around. "We're gonna play somethin'."

Apparently not that many times.

He got up and over, pulling the chair out so he could sit at her side but the rubber straps bent to his weight way more than he'd accounted for and he ended up mostly falling. He sank down so far that his ass nearly touched the floor, making a sinkhole that made her fall in next to him, shoulder landing solidly against his as she nearly snorted when she'd realized what had happened.

He tried to adjust his seat but it was no fucking use, the keys nearly level with his chest and her face level with his as her hand fell to his knee to brace herself. "What's funny?" he asked, but he wasn't even embarrassed because this was so ridiculous that he didn't care.

"Everythin'," she said. "You." She put her hands out towards the board just to show him how much he'd fucked her positioning up.

"C'mon, then," he said, and leaned back to make room for her on his lap like she'd tried to make room on this chair in the first place.

"Are you serious?" she asked, her hands falling back down.

"You made me sit here, sure as hell ain't gettin' up," he said, and grabbed her arm to pull her easily onto his knee so that she was, for the most part, back where she'd started.

She was stiff at first, but she settled into him a second later, her back against his shoulder and her hair just long enough to brush his cheek as she sat up a little straighter, feet stretching out. "Perfect," she said, and then reached for his hand and stretched it down towards the other side. "You hit these," she said, arranging his fingers. "When I say, okay?"

But then when she began pressing down some notes in the beginnings of an upbeat little tune, it was off. Given, he didn't really know what he was listening for, but even in his limited experience this didn't sound right. She tensed a little, trying it again, but it was still just bad, discordant and wrong. The higher up she went the quieter noise it gave in return until she reached a few keys near the edge that wouldn't play at all.

"It supposed to sound like that?" he asked, even though he pretty much already knew.

"No," she sighed, sounding so disappointed, but she tried another key that sounded even worse and then she was laughing, filling the room with music all on her own that echoed off those arches back onto them. She pressed down what he thought was supposed to be a scale, up and down in jerking steps, the notes fighting with each other as her hand moved more towards his. "Guess nobody thought to tune it."

He looked at the back of her as she sighed. "Yeah. Fuck 'em." She looked back to grin at him, and he pulled his hand free from where she'd it to hold loosely onto her hip. "Why don't you keep on playin'?"

She hummed before she did as he asked, shaky fragile little notes gaining more volume as her fingers gained confidence. "Any requests?"

"Mozart," he said, and he knew fuckall about any songs he wrote or what instruments he wrote them for, but he'd gone to school once upon a time and he did know some things.

She looked back at him, not surprised but smiling. "Well, I don't know any of his," she said, but he didn't really care and he didn't think she did, either, facing back forward and picking up where she'd left off. Graceful little mesmerizing fingers dancing back and forth in pieces of songs as she remembered them, some of the notes sticking out for how they clashed against each other but they all played for her and listening was doing him just fine.

She played and sometimes she sang and sometimes there wasn't a song at all as she constructed the music in her head, and finally that sun was setting so that the light could come in strong and practically liquid, reflecting off the black gloss of the piano and lighting up all of her it could touch. He let himself press into her shoulder, his hand coming more around her as they were both submerged, reaching his foot forward to hold down one of the little pedals just to see what would happen. Then the notes were all running into next, lingering forever as they drowned each other.

He didn't know how long she played but the sun was still setting when she stopped, curving back against him before standing up and taking him with her, back to the bed that had managed to stay in the light. He didn't wait for her, laying on his back dead center, feet not hanging off and this was the best it had been in such a long time.

She seemed to wait for him to get settled before she joined him, coming in from the side and falling on her stomach so that they intersected, no pillows or blankets but God this felt nice, and she crawled over him with knees and hands that barely made a dent in the padding, draping herself over him with weight as warm as the sun, pressing her cheek at the center of his chest with her ear at his heart and letting her fingers weave to play with his hair. She'd asked him that day why he was alright with this, and he hadn't been able to come up with an answer but feeling her now he didn't really think anybody was going to be looking to him for some kind of explanation as to why.

He grunted. "Heavier than you look."

She yanked a little at his hair, and he smiled. "I can be meaner than I look, too," she said, curling herself inward so her knees were near his head, all of her within arm's reach.

So he allowed himself to get his hand out from behind his head, touching her knee, her thigh, holding back from her side where he knew he could make her shriek and scream and laugh so loud she'd wake the birds. Her breasts, too, not to try and get anything out of her yet but just because he had before and he could now, gentle curves on his fingertips up to her shoulder and then back.

"Thanks for bringin' me here," she whispered. "I love it."

He didn't answer, and he didn't really think he needed to, tracing all over her just to do it, feeling her brush him back, and he wasn't tired anymore but thrumming awake. He'd brought her here, but he could bring her other places, too, right here in this room, and he let himself think about that as his fingers touched down his stomach and then put his palm broad on her thigh. She was stirring, too, he could feel, her lips edging open and her eyes watching everything.

No, not tired. Alive and singing and filled with the feel of her, and yeah.

They'd be here a while.

**if you think I'm going to make them fuck in a rainbowed sunset of warmth and sensuality and sunshine with a possibility of some dirty stuff thrown in you are absolutely correct gold star for you. Song inspiration for this chapter was "Sun Will Set" by Zoe Keating because I'm a slut for the cello. Review because I've written/rewritten nearly 25k words of smut in the past few days solely for you guys to enjoy and if that's not love I'm not sure what is.**


	9. Chapter 9

**I'm really sorry this took so long - I have to be in a very specific mood to write thousands of words of smut. Plus I had to figure out what kind of kink I wanted to get into here, and as I was writing it turned into orgasm denial. If that's not your thing you have been forewarned. The pacing is a little different on this one - a little sweeter, I think - and it also turned out a bit shorter than my other chapters, but… I think y'all will be alright, hah. **

This was probably the most comfortable Daryl'd been in ages. Miles fucking better than sleeping on the floor, and definitely a couple steps above the prison cots. So he must've at least been doing something right for them.

Not much had changed in the last half hour or so except for the sun sinking lower and Beth moving onto flat onto her back so she could watch the colors cast from the windows change and deepen along with the light. The sun was coming in warm and flowing, seeping through the stained glass in a current as strong as the one that was still passing back and forth between them both as he touched and let himself be touched. Lazy as shit, both of them, tired and slow except for how he was nowhere near sleep and he knew just from her breaths he could feel under his hand that neither was she.

She sighed, bumping over his knuckles on the hand at her stomach. "It's beautiful."

It was something. It was nice and he liked it, but he couldn't think of anything to say that would match what he thought she was probably seeing. She had a whole different kind of vision for things like this.

She turned her head to look at him when he didn't answer in time, hair matted where it had been rubbed against his shirt. "Don't you think so?"

He gave her a nod, hand pausing until her head turned back straight. She was so interesting to look at like this, her shirt pulled up now so he could touch over her bare stomach. Her legs were bent but open, letting the light come in uninterrupted as she received his wandering hand with welcoming warmth. Curving with gentle grace up into his touch, subtle like a cat stretching its spine to follow a petting hand, her head pressing down harder into his stomach as she relaxed only to tense again. He tried his fingertips on her ribs to see if she'd follow that, too, feeling himself just barely smile when she did. He felt her bones small like a birds, shifting under his hand as he spread his fingers wide to see how much of her he could cover like this.

He could cover her everywhere, he already knew. There was that, too, underneath it all, because he might not be hurried and he might be fine sitting in the pleasure that came along with knowing he'd shown her something good, but there were definitely some other things happening here. He felt her fingers curl over his own as he pulled her shirt higher, drawing a swooping line against the hem to drag it up over her breast, the rise of her stopping the fabric from falling back down. He was lost to her, stepping his fingers back down her stomach to see the way her skin gave in with shallow little dips underneath him.

And then her fingers on him, too, her palm on his thigh with her head turned to see what she was doing, nail skipping along the seam of his jeans. She came dangerously low down his thigh before switching direction back to his knee. Back and forth. Give and take. But she stopped when he came back up to her breast, giving her a wide circle that spiraled in towards her nipple until he cut a line over it, feeling her fingers digging in as her head snapped back to watch.

Yeah. This was something he wanted.

He didn't know where this was coming from, if it had always been there or something she'd kindled into existence, but he liked it. He liked this, and he liked that he liked it, that she was soft enough for him to fall into and erase that anything had ever been different. That he had ever not had this, her nipple under the pad of his of his fingers, goosebumps that rose in a wave as he pushed into the edge of her hip bones stretching up against her skin, seemed like a whole world away.

He could hear her breathing going throaty, swallowing loudly in a motion that rolled from her neck to her hips, stomach sucking in deep enough to leave a small hole between her shirt and her pelvis. He slipped between them, stopping to look at her.

"Yeah?" he asked her, and she nodded somewhat frantically, thumbs hooking into her shorts to pull them halfway up her legs before his hand caught her and pulled her back. "Lemme," he said, swallowing when he heard how dry his voice had become.

She turned to look at him, blinking slowly and licking her lips at the same speed, looking somewhat like she was surprised. But then she nodded again, once, dropping her hand to her stomach and then to his arm and then back to the floor, unsure and jumpy.

But he didn't take the shorts off, or even her underwear, letting his hand glide past the band and her wiry tuft of curls. The fabric stretched for him, fingers poking out on either side to fit into the crease of her thighs. Her skin was so soft, here, hot as fire as she pushed to fit easily into his hand, giving him just enough room to curl his fingers between her lips, watching as they spread towards his outer fingers. He kept up the motion until he found her clit, swollen and jutting up against the pads of his fingers already made slick with her. She writhed quietly, turning her head away again to watch herself as she bent her arm so she could palm him where he was beginning to rise for her, squeezing with nothing even close to finesse or rhythm.

She started pulling clumsily at his buckle, the angle making her slow and his fingers making her agitated as he scissored them over her clit, squeezing and pulling gently as steadily as he could make himself. Her hips moved with him, and she only managed to pull his belt from the buckle before she gave up to look at him with a whine. Her hand shot down to catch his wrist, holding him so tight that he could feel bones grinding, making it difficult to keep up with what he was trying to do for her.

So he reached his free hand over to her where she rested on his chest, pulling her hair free from where it was beginning to stick to her neck, pushing it back from her temples. He didn't know if he was successfully doing anything to soothe her, but her grip relaxed enough for him to circle down and pick up her own wetness where it was dripping down towards the crack of her ass, feeling her whole mound jump as her cunt clenched towards his fingers, knees snatching closed before a deep, calming breath allowed her to relax them as open as her shorts would allow.

She made it so easy and he fucking got off just listening to her, getting drunk off the sounds he could coax out of her as he took her clit back between his fingers that were long enough to tease at her opening. She couldn't seem to decide whether she wanted her legs open or closed, hips jerking up to his hand, her shorts leaving only barely enough room for his palm to cover her whole mound with his finger dragging continuous and increasingly more unsteady lines from her cunt to her clit and back. She was arching for it, working herself trying to get there, hips rotating and pushing. She pushed herself past his hand to sit herself up on her elbows and watch, but there wasn't even anything to see, her underwear hiding it all, stretching thin where his knuckles pressed up against it. She collapsed backwards with a frustrated wince, eyes shut tight.

And he wanted her to come. He wanted her to come more than he wanted anything for herself. But he also kind of didn't, yet, because he didn't think he'd seen anything so magnetizing as the way she moved when she wanted it, muscles and ligaments working together in a harmonious dichotomy that he wanted to watch and see how frantic he could make. He'd done this before, gotten her so close only to stop, but that was so he could get her off in other ways. He'd never done it like this, but just the idea of it, the thought of pushing her high only to push her higher with none of the falls, was making his heart pound into his spine.

So he stopped. Pulled his finger so that he wasn't giving her anymore, keeping his palm pressed down on her even as she pressed back up twice as hard, enough pressure so that he was sure she could feel him on her but not enough for much else. She'd nearly crested into something, hips riding it out and knees squeezing together as her torso twisted, but her head was shaking back and forth with her lower lip tucked so far into her mouth that it was pulling at her chin, and he knew she hadn't gotten there. He kept his palm on her when her spine made it back to the mattress, feeling how hot she was on him, blood rushing there as well as everywhere else.

It was a short trip down for her, chest still heaving with unspent tension. "I didn't -"

"I know," he said, before she could say. He didn't even know if he could explain. He hadn't been trying to be a prick in the moment, but now, looking at her, that's what he felt like.

She turned her head a couple inches, but didn't look at him, brow furrowed in confusion as she tried to figure it out. "You -"

"I know," he interrupted again, but he still wasn't sure how he could phrase the thought behind that split second decision. Something about delayed gratification. About edging near only to look out and retreat so that next time there would be no choice but to fall. How was he supposed to tell her how she looked when she was in that moment? "Beth-"

"It's good," she said, glancing at him for a second before taking a deeper, more steadying breath.

This shouldn't be surprising. But it was.

He wasn't sure what face he was making that clued her in on what he was feeling, but when she looked at him again she reached down to cover his hand with hers. "I told you I'd tell you. I will. Just -" she said, and cut off her own words with a ripple of shivers as she used her hand on his to press his finger back towards her clit, her sensitivity still heightened.

That was alright. He really didn't need her to tell him more.

He pulled his hand free to get at her shorts and underwear, yanking one side up a thigh while she got the other, leaving her naked and her legs free to fall lax and open. He could smell her, he was fucking sure of it, something sweet and strongly distinct, and he could see her shining and reflecting back on the sun from her wetness that coated her own pelvis and the insides of her thighs. He drew a line from her ass to the the hood of her clit, digging in enough to make her legs jerk, holding up his finger to see the light reflect there, too. So wet, wet enough for both of them to see, and when he looked at her face he could see she was staring just as entranced as she was.

Back to her cunt, looking at the way her lips spread with his fingers between them. He should go slow, give her some kind of recovery period, but instead he found himself slipping a finger inside of her. She didn't even seem to notice, completely, falling back to his chest, using her hand on his leg to release some of whatever she was feeling as he fucked her slow and deep as he could.

He would feel mean except he had never seen her like this. He'd been inside her and seen her enough, now, enough that he thought he was at least vaguely aware of how moved and looked when he brought her up to the end, but this was different. This was a near violent frenzy, her fingers locked around his thigh with her elbow jabbing painfully into his stomach as her hips rose off the ground with every heavy undulation, the tension releasing only to be immediately whipped back into place. Her thighs were still shaking, but now so were her arms, her stomach taut as she tried to recoil from his fingers.

But he wouldn't let her. Couldn't. Instead he gave her another finger, feeling how easily she stretched to accommodate him. He crooked them inside her, trying to get at her like he had when he'd taken her from behind, twisting his wrist so he could touch at her clit with the edge of his thumb. She whined, her shoulders trying to turn to the side towards his leg as her foot kicked out, heel banging against the floor as she shuddered with hectic bucks of her hips into his hand. He didn't know where to listen or where to look, at the mangled, wired mutters of sounds that she couldn't force into words, or at the very audible noise of his fingers as they scissored into her cunt; at her neck, the tendons pulled tight with the hollows between them deep all the way to her collarbone, or at her breasts, bared and pink and moving with the rest of her, or even at her legs, her feet sliding along the mattress as she tried to find purchase enough to keep them open.

It wasn't as long this time. He knew it couldn't be, not after how he'd left her. Her body came to a sudden, rigid standstill, his name coming strangled from her mouth. She wrenched backwards and he finally relented just in time for her legs to shoot back closed, a cry ripping from her chest as he grabbed at the fleshy insides of her thigh to force her leg back open so she kept stretched for him there, too, her head falling back to his stomach with her hands still reaching for him. He watched in something like wonder as for the second time she made it all the way to the edge of a cliff only to come down a disappointing slope of a hill instead, her chest dewy with the strain. Her face looked near tears as she gave up on trying to give herself some friction with her own legs, letting him keep them open without a fight.

He wrapped an arm under her chest to pull her up on top of him, but her legs were already scrambling to get her there, swinging up and over his waist so she could straddle him. She angled herself so her cunt came down on his zipper, grinding a few inches along what friction he could to give her some sort of relief before she was settling wet and hot on the skin of his stomach. It was only seconds before they had his shirt off, a couple more inches of maneuvering to make the same work of his pants until his cock was hitting open air, her reaching behind to grasp him at the base to give him a few tugs even as she whined.

She twisted to lift off of him and reach for her bag, fishing through it until she had one of those fucking condoms she'd grabbed from the station. She struggled to open it, fingers slipping along the foil, but then it was open and she was rolling it on and in one smooth motion she was swinging herself back to sink onto him, past the head and the shaft and just taking him all the fucking way, walls already giving him warning little flutters.

There was still a bit of unsurity in the way she moved, here, but none of the fucking hesitation. Her legs had been made weak from what he'd done to her, but she didn't let that stop her, thighs moving powerfully to swivel along his length in seemingly random strokes. He couldn't even bear to touch her, now, afraid of fucking up the furious determination he felt in her fingers on his chest. He could just sit here and take it, take whatever she had to give him now, running just a few fingertips up and down her arms as they strained with her weight.

"There you go," he muttered, watching as her hips snapped back and forth, her face wrapped up in the effort. "Easy."

But she wasn't going easy, at all, and it was hard to even look at her. Enough time had passed that more shadows had crept into the room, but none of them dared to touch on her. Instead of shadows there were just deeper shades of color printed into her skin like she was an extension of the glass, breasts and nipples and stomach and ribs reflections of white and gold and red and green. But then she was folding herself down, falling in a wave against him so that her chest was on his and her head could nestle up against his shoulder. Feeling her breathing was better than seeing it, heart and lungs laboring just inches away from his.

She felt different like this, walls that touched and dragged, tight heat and tight hips and just tight all over. Everything was tighter like this, not thrusts of his hips or hers but instead soft, constant rises and falls, heels bearing his weight as he pushed and she pushed back. He could barely slip out of her at all before the space was closed again, relentlessly drawing him back in. He let his arm drape over her back, feeling each knob of her spine and the interweaving lines of bone and muscle as everything turned and twitched. He made it to the cheeks of her ass, cupped and kneaded her there to coax more of those twitches out of her. She was focusing, giving herself little grinds that made her breath catch, her legs spreading. He thought he could feel her clit, feel the hard, swollen spot against him as it caught and snagged at the base of his cock, all of her shaking.

It was a tight squeeze, here, forcing his fingers between them until he could find where she was fucking herself on him, searching for her clit that was nudging constantly up against him. He knew when she could feel that extra pressure, crumpling against his chest with her back cutting into an arch. He could feel the wet spot of her mouth on his shoulder, her hand slapping against the mattress next to him. It couldn't be long now and he had every intention of giving it to her, everything broken or close to it, his hand on her ass grabbing handfuls to keep her moving while his fingers between them brushed on her clit every time she came close enough for him to feel her.

She gave him another whine that pitched into a cry. "Can-" she started, but didn't finish, the word disappearing against his neck as her hand curled around his arm, her legs closing in on the outsides of his as her whole body rolled in a spasm that centered on her cunt that tightened even more than the rest of her. He'd thought that was it, and he was ready for it, arm securing him to her and hips surging up against her, but she didn't get there. Instead she collapsed back, weak and languid except for her pelvis riding him in frantic little waves.

And then he thought he understood what she'd been about to ask. _Can_ she.

He almost came without warning just at the understanding, because that was what he'd wanted from the first time. To give her this, to give her something, anything, but not like this. This was very distinctly not what he'd been going for, but now that it was being phrased like this... Let her.

_Let_ her. Which was fucked up in so, so many ways, but so was this and so was he and so was everything, and he could give her everything she was trying to take and yes, he would _let_ her come, nodding tightly and thumb moving even tighter.

It wasn't even a full second later that she was there with him, her nails tearing down his arms in a path that stung and burn. Her breaths caught all up into each other while he could feel all of her tensing, flushes of heat all over his skin and hers, knees knocking against his and jaw opening into a bite against his chest as she threw everything she had into coming. It wasn't just her hips rolling but everything, his own pleasure drowned out in the all enveloping heat of hers, emptying himself inside of her while swells of rippling, heaving heat burned through her skin wherever she touched him. She couldn't even make a noise at first, his arm around her keeping her down even as she close to thrashed, doubling down when he eased himself back into her just to feel her milk him dry. She did cry out, then, keening and mewling but angling her hips so she could take him in again even as he felt himself going soft.

He was anything but dry. Wet with sweat, his and hers, wet with her tongue and her teeth, wet with her cunt and soaked with heavy satisfaction that wasted no time entangling itself in his head. And something else, something like pride not for him, but for her. That this was happening. That he could do it at all.

He looked down to see her eyes already closed, baby curls near her forehead patted down against her skin, exhausted and pink and spent, no strength left. He didn't have any, either. He was having trouble framing any of this as a problem, or really thinking about anything at all except for the way she'd felt and the way she felt now, already getting those flashes of memory, but at least this time he was happy for it.

Anything else could sit the fuck back for a while.

**Have fun with this one. If you want more reliable updates/more of my smut, I have another story for that! Tell me what you think or if there's something else you want to see.**

**Also, I'm marking this as complete for now just nobody has any expectations about when I will update, if I choose to update it at all. **


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